Heroes and Villains
by Gemmi92
Summary: "Why are you saying that? I know that he is lying!" He watched on as she continued to sob from where she stood on the ground. His feet shook as he stood on the ledge of the building. "Because it is true. I'm a fraud. You need to move on, Elizabeth. I've never been a father to you." She shook her head, unable to stop crying. "Yes, you have...just not a normal one..."
1. Chapter 1

"It's dull!"

The shrill sound of his voice snapped her from the book which she had been staring down at. She allowed her brow to furrow before she dropped her pen onto the paper she had been writing on. Taking a moment to think; she then looked up to see him pacing the length of the room.

"There's been nothing. Not one murder...not one corpse...nothing..."

"Normal people would consider that to be a good thing," she commented and leaned back in the wooden chair. She took another moment to look around the room, noting all of the cardboard boxes which sat on top of each other. Rolling her eyes, she realised that he had no intention to unpack.

"Normal people are boring," he complained again, flopping into the empty chair by the fireplace.

"Well...go out...do something...you don't need to sit here," she responded and began to write again. She copied the notes she had made in her previous lecture, doing her best to memorise them into her mind.

"Why are you trying to study?" he suddenly asked her, lacing his fingers together and resting them beneath his chin. "The first year of university doesn't count."

"Did you not study during the first year?" she wondered. "Besides, I'm struggling already...it's a bit crazy..."

"No," he replied and jumped up from the chair again, seemingly incapable of sitting still for more than one minute. "It's boring...dull..."

He stood still and looked to her over the table. "And how are you struggling?"

"Picked up on that, did you?" she checked; her tone one of sarcasm. She caught his calm and collected gaze before pushing her blonde hair over her shoulder and nodded, doing her best not to break down in front of him. He wouldn't know what to do. She could imagine him yelling at her and telling her to pull herself together.

"What are you struggling with?"

"Can you explain what a trust is to me?" she wondered. "Or what the point of equity is?"

"I could, as a matter of fact," he responded and bent by her side, his hands pushing at the paper she was reading. His brow furrowed and he shook his head. "So what's the issue? You have only been at university for two months. You can't be struggling already."

"You wouldn't understand," she complained and snatched the paper out of his hands, tossing it to the side before she scraped the chair back and turned around to glower at him. "You're a highly functioning sociopath, aren't you?"

"Well...yes..." he replied. "But there is no reason for you to be so rude, Elizabeth."

"I didn't mean to be," Elizabeth said back to him. "I didn't know how to tell you this...I knew you'd panic...or yell at me...you're Sherlock Holmes...you don't take news very well."

"What is it?" he wondered. "You want to drop out of university?"

Elizabeth profusely blinked and felt annoyance radiate through her as soon as she saw a smug smirk form on his arrogant face. She dropped her hands to her hips and cocked her head to the side.

"I've known since the second week you went. You've continuously phoned and complained of how none of your flatmates like you...also how you can't keep up with the lectures, despite the three A's you managed at A Level to get into University. You also hate studying law and that's apparent due to the miserable look on your face all the time. There are other smaller details, but I thought I'd leave them out."

She would have allowed her mouth to gape had she not spent the past eighteen years listening to her father and his historic rants. She had almost grown immune to his cockiness. _Almost. _She still managed to find room to snap at him occasionally.

"And you didn't feel like saying anything?"

"And confirm your self doubt?" Sherlock wondered. "I wanted you to stay at university for as long as possible. Of course, I knew this day would come. So, what? Do you want to drop out now? Do you want to quit? What do you intend to do now?"

"I had an interview today," Elizabeth admitted to him. "I snuck out this morning for it. I've been looking for jobs for a while now."

"And where is this job?"

"Angelo's restaurant," she muttered and another smirk formed on Sherlock's face.

"So it is a job in the restaurant of a man I once helped? Did you happen to mention I was your father?"

"He asked if we were related," Elizabeth defended herself and folded her arms across her chest. Glancing back to her father, she wondered what he was thinking of. She knew he would be annoyed that she was living back with him. She always had the feeling that he preferred to live alone.

"A job through pity," he nodded. "I suppose it is money. You'll need it to pay your student debt off."

"I guessed," she mumbled and slumped onto the sofa, pulling her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms around her thighs. "You're not mad though, are you?"

"Have I ever been mad with you?" he arched a brow in confusion.

"You've never been anything with me," she counteracted. "It's just...I'm miserable up in Newcastle...I thought I wanted to study law...I was wrong and I don't want to waste another three years doing it and getting further into debt."

"And do you want to waitress for the rest of your life?" Sherlock mumbled and picked up a sheet of paper she had been reading. His eyes scanned the words and he took it in with ease. Apparently his daughter had yet to inherit his intelligence.

"I don't know what I want to do for the rest of my life," Elizabeth replied. "I'll find out one day though, right? I mean...you technically don't have a job..."

"I do have a job."

"You made up a job."

"It is still a job."

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes, realising that there was no reason to argue with him. She would never win. "I'm going back up to pack my belongings when reading week finishes."

"I see," Sherlock replied and sat on the opposite end of the sofa to her. He took another quick glance at her, noting the relaxed expression on her face. She had been building herself up to this moment for quite some time, he could tell. He wondered if he should have pushed her sooner...whether he should have told her to do what she wanted. It wasn't his life. Yet, he couldn't help but not approach the subject. He thought university would be the best for her. He thought she could cope.

He often wondered if she really was his daughter.

"So...that's that?" Elizabeth checked. "You're not going to yell at me? Urge me not to leave? Tell me that I'm being stupid?"

"I'll let you tell yourself all of those things as you continue to doubt yourself."

"Thanks a lot," she mumbled. "I'm glad to see that you're concerned over me."

"Why do I need to be concerned?" Sherlock wondered from her. "You're doing what you want to do, aren't you? I'm supposed to be happy about that."

Elizabeth said nothing for a few moments, her father's eyes staring into hers. It was almost like the pair of them were trying to deduce something. What; Elizabeth had no idea. She didn't know much when it came to her father. He was ridiculously guarded and happy not to tell her how he felt.

Thankfully she heard her phone go off and Sherlock's lips rose again.

"Mycroft," he drawled. "No doubt he will have heard of your plan. I can only assume he will try to talk you out of it...he wouldn't want disgrace to the Holmes name."

Elizabeth dragged her BlackBerry out of her jeans pocket and sighed when she realised her father was right.

"Do you think I bring disgrace to the Holmes name?" she wondered. It wasn't like they were royals...well...Mycroft was highly regarded.

"No," Sherlock replied. "I can only assume that I've already brought disgrace to the family name so you have nothing to worry about."

"Thanks," Elizabeth mumbled pensively. She took a moment to lock her phone and rest it on the arm of the sofa. "He wants me to meet him in the cafe downstairs in half an hour."

"Interesting," Sherlock whispered. "He's found out our new address already."

Elizabeth shook her head and stood up. She reached for her jacket which sat on the back of the chair she had occupied whilst studying.

"Did you not tell him?"

"He's the British Government," Sherlock replied nonchalantly. "I knew that he would find out eventually...but to do it in one day is impressive."

"I guess," Elizabeth said. "I'll go down now. I need a change of scenery...and then I'll come back and unpack some things."

"We have a visitor coming this afternoon," Sherlock suddenly informed her and she arched her brows before shrugging her arms into her jacket.

"Who?"

"A potential flatmate," Sherlock said and he stood up, wandering around the living room before checking the clock on the mantelpiece. "I can hardly afford this place on my own and there is a spare room upstairs. Rent in London isn't cheap and I don't see you contributing any time soon."

Elizabeth shook her head and wondered if dropping out of university would be the best thing now that she knew her father intended to move someone into the flat.

"And who is he?"

"John Watson," Sherlock replied. "An army doctor. I met him yesterday."

Elizabeth coughed and spluttered for a moment. "You're moving a random stranger in?"

"I know enough about him from one meeting. Does it almost make you want to stay at university?"

Shaking her head, she grabbed her phone from the arm and took another glance back at her father, wondering what she should say to him. She sometimes struggled to believe him. He arched his brow and dropped his hands to his hips.

"Fine," Elizabeth said. "I'm going."

Sherlock stood still and watched his daughter leave the flat. He shook his head and looked at himself in the reflection. How had a silly mistake at university turned into Elizabeth Holmes? It was a question he often asked himself.

...

A/N: I just couldn't resist writing another fanfic. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and do let me know what you think so far.


	2. Chapter 2

"Why do you intend to drop out of a top university to waitress in an Italian restaurant?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as soon as her uncle sat down next to her. She had been clasping her hot chocolate for half an hour, her hands wrapped around the warm mug as she did her best not to think about what she was going to do. She was going to drop out of university. She was going to through away a career; a career that she had never truly wanted anyway.

"I don't like university," she said to him and he held his coffee cup to his lips.

Elizabeth kept quiet whilst her uncle eyed her with suspicion. The curious glances from the two of them seemed to be a result of the Holmes side of the family.

"A lot of people 'don't like university', Elizabeth," he informed her. "Perseverance is needed. As you uncle, I only feel right to tell you that a rash decision is never a good one."

"I've thought about this for two months," Elizabeth whispered to him, her eyes finding his after a moment or two. Mycroft sighed and ran a hand over his temple. "I'd rather work and find out what it is I really want to do than waste money on a course which I hate."

Mycroft sighed, but he knew that he could not argue with her logic, nor could he force her to do something which she did not want to do. Elizabeth had a mind of her own, how he knew that. She was Sherlock's daughter, of course she did. She kept silent, her gaze continuously looking to the window to see if her father's mystery flatmate would turn up.

"Has you dad urged you against this?"

"What do you think my father has done?" Elizabeth wondered. "He said nothing about any of it really...just that I was old enough to do as I wanted..."

"I suspected as much," Mycroft mumbled under his breath and Elizabeth arched a brow, sipping on her now cold hot chocolate. She took a moment to lean back in her seat and pull her blonde hair over one shoulder.

"I'm getting the train from Kings Cross to Newcastle Central on Friday to collect my stuff," Elizabeth informed him.

"I will have a car waiting for you at the university to bring you back," Mycroft responded. "I doubt you would want to bring back a large case on the train with you. It's hardly practical."

Elizabeth felt her brows furrow as soon as he spoke.

"You're not going to tell me to keep going?"

"I don't want to see you miserable, Elizabeth," Mycroft responded. "I would love for you to stay at university and do well, but I understand if you need some form of gap year. I wouldn't want for you to go through three years of a degree that will make you miserable. Although...living with Sherlock...does that not make you miserable?"

Elizabeth took another moment to look at her uncle and think about the years she had spent with her father. She supposed she had grown immune to his ways and his lack of emotion. She never really knew how to handle him, but she had learned that she couldn't handle him. She just...well...she coped.

"My dad...he...I've learnt how to be around him and not be frustrated. It's quite easy to know to stay out of his way when he's on a case and when he's bored."

"So that's all the time?" Mycroft replied with a small smirk.

Elizabeth felt herself laugh and her uncle couldn't help but pity his niece for having to live with Sherlock. Mycroft and Sherlock had rarely seen eye to eye; a fact which Mycroft didn't forget often.

"I should get going," Elizabeth told Mycroft. "I need to shower and I'm having a trial run at the restaurant this evening."

She stood up and grabbed her coat, slipping it over her shoulders and her arms into the sleeves.

"I shall speak to you again soon, Elizabeth," Mycroft nodded, not bothering to stand up as he pulled his phone from his suit pocket, looking down at the contents on the screen for a few moments. "I'll have a car waiting in Newcastle, as I said."

"Thank you," Elizabeth politely smiled, managing to find a feeling that things would get better throughout time. She would be happier, at least.

"Take care," Mycroft urged her and watched as she wandered out of the cafe and back into 221B Baker Street.

...

"What did he say?"

Elizabeth found her father rushing through the living room, moving boxes and emptying his possessions. She had to admit; she was amazed he had even remembered where she had been. He usually forgot when she went out.

"He told me that he wanted me to do the right thing. I promised him that I had done the right thing...but...we'll see..." Elizabeth shrugged nonchalantly. "I need to change. I have a trial run at the restaurant this evening. I'll be back at around eleven."

"How do you intend to get home?"

"I'll walk back."

"In the dark?" Sherlock wondered from his daughter. "When have you ever walked home in the dark?"

Elizabeth's brows furrowed as she listened to him. She kept quiet and shrugged her shoulders as Sherlock held his skull in his hands, his eyes firmly set on hers.

"I don't know...I usually get a cab back when I'm out at night. Why does it matter?"

"It matters because of the crime rate in London," Sherlock replied, his tone one of some kind of disinterest as he watched Elizabeth stare at his skull.

"You should get rid of that before your potential flatmate gets here."

"Our," Sherlock responded. "You're going to be living here as well. Besides, you need to stop trying to evade my question. How will you come home this evening?"

"I will walk."

"In that case I shall meet you."

"You're joking," she complained and shook her head. "You haven't walked me anywhere since I was eight and you reluctantly took me for a milkshake because I'd nagged at you for hours on end. Why are you so concerned over me now?"

Sherlock said nothing for a moment, eyeing his daughter with suspicion.

"Why do you not want me to meet you?" he wondered back to her. "Is there something happening that I don't know?"

"No," she replied. "Like what?"

She asked the question and shook her head as Sherlock's jaw hung open and she placed her jacket on the back of the chair at the desk. She took a moment or two to find her BlackBerry out of its pockets before she looked back to her father, wondering what was going on his odd mind.

"I finish at eleven," she informed him, knowing that he could find out when she finished with ease. He wasn't stupid. He knew her better than she knew herself. She did not doubt that. Of course, she was wrong. Sherlock knew his daughter to a certain extent, but he had never been close to her. Not once had he managed to find out as much as he wanted to.

"I'll be waiting," Sherlock promised her.

"Fine. I'm off to get changed. I'll probably be gone by the time the flatmate arrives." Elizabeth said, wandering off down the corridor to her bedroom.

...

Sherlock sat on the sofa, waiting for John Watson to arrive. He had heard his daughter mutter to herself as she quickly changed in her bedroom and then rushed into the bathroom. Sherlock preferred not to interrupt her whilst she was getting ready. He had last tried that when she was six and running late for school. Elizabeth always had been slow when it came to making sure she looked fine to leave the house.

He suspected she had inherited that trait from her mother. He didn't know, but he was sure her mother had always been vain; she was constantly fixing her hair whenever he knew her. Not that he had known her for a long time.

"You are not going out in that."

Sherlock couldn't help himself from speaking as soon as he saw his daughter. She pulled at the skirt she wore and rolled her eyes.

"Since when did you care about what I wore?" Elizabeth wondered. "Besides, the skirt comes down to the knee. That's long enough. You're in a very strange mood."

Sherlock's brows furrowed and he took a moment to think about her. Was he in a strange mood? He didn't really know. He had always told Elizabeth when he disapproved of her clothing. Was that not his prerogative? He was her father.

"Well, don't get cold," Sherlock said and she placed her leather jacket back onto her arms, fastening up. She grabbed her BlackBerry again and dropped it into her pocket. Checking her ponytail in the mirror; she then turned around to see her father.

"I'll see you later on tonight then?" she checked.

"Yes, you will," Sherlock half heartedly agreed and watched her leave without another word.

...

Elizabeth had been a sale's assistant through her time at sixth form. She had found that difficult at the time; the constant nagging and complaining doing nothing to make her feel better about the money she was earning. Waitressing was a different story. The restaurant was seemingly heaving, regardless of two empty tables. Elizabeth managed to keep up most of the time; only the till seemed to confuse her.

Angelo had told her not to worry about anything. It just took time to get used to things. She had been in the kitchen, passing the plates back to the chefs before she heard Angelo yell loudly.

"Sherlock! My old friend!"

Grabbing her leather coat, Elizabeth rushed from out the back to where Angelo was greeting her father. He enveloped Sherlock in a hug and an awkward look crossed her father's face before he noted his daughter over Angelo's shoulder.

"Your girl...she is doing well...she's very clever...why did she leave university?"

"You'll have to ask her that," Sherlock said and Angelo followed the consulting detective's gaze.

"Ah, Lizzie," Angelo spoke, backtracking slightly as Elizabeth pushed her hands into her pockets and forced a smile onto her face for her new boss. "You did excellent tonight!"

"Really?" Sherlock was the one to ask. "Judging by the small stain on her skirt and the plaster on her thumb; I'd say you're telling me a slight lie, Angelo."

Elizabeth could feel her blood boil inside of her as she ground her teeth together and watched as her father observed her. Shaking her head, she allowed her narrowed eyes to widen as she smiled back to Angelo.

"Thank you for tonight, Angelo," she said and he politely returned her smile along with an incline of his head. "I've got my hours for next week; if you'll have me back?"

"Of course!" the man exclaimed with an enthusiastic beam. "It has been pleasure, Miss Lizzie. Goodnight and take care of yourself...you too, Sherlock! Don't be a stranger!"

"Oh, I try not to be," Sherlock responded and followed Elizabeth out of the door, keeping close on her heels.

"Why did you do that?"

She whirled around as soon as they were down the street from the restaurant. Her arms flailed by her sides as she waited patiently for an answer.

"State the obvious?" Sherlock wondered from her.

"What is it?" she snarled at him.

There was something on her face; a look of some kind which Sherlock had never seen before. He had never seen such resentment from his daughter before. He had done nothing wrong?

"Do you like to show off at any given moment? Do you enjoy making me worthless in comparison to you? Do you really love it that much? Honestly, you have no reason to. I feel crappy enough already without you continuously rubbing it in; so please, just stop it. Stop it because I don't need this at the moment. I don't need you continuously making me feel like crap."

Sherlock's gaze remained level and his face emotionless. He watched as Elizabeth rested a hand on her forehead, pushing her fringe from her forehead. She looked as though she was about to burst into tears; something that had not happened since she was a little girl.

"Elizabeth-"

"-Don't," she interrupted. "Just leave it."

"What do you want me to say?" Sherlock wondered, his hands still in his pockets. "None of this is my fault, Elizabeth."

"No," she replied and shook her head. "I know that it isn't your fault. I just don't need you on at me all the time, dad. I know I've messed up for choosing to do the wrong thing, but I am trying to set it right. I get that waitressing is a job which means nothing to you-"

"-I never said that-"

"-And I don't really want to be a waitress, but I know that I have to do something to earn money whilst I try to find out my life's plan."

Sherlock watched as she stood a few paces away from him. He didn't know what to do. Should he attempt to comfort her? Should he tell her that he was sorry for what happened? He didn't really know what to do.

"Elizabeth," he spoke her name firmly. "Don't cry about it."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and longed for someone to speak to at that moment in time. She longed for her friends from sixth form, but they had all left for university. They had all coped away from home. They all loved the life at university.

"I'm not crying," Elizabeth lied.

"You certainly don't understand any of this, do you? You need to calm down, Elizabeth. Come along, a coffee should help."

Elizabeth kept quiet, not too sure what to do. She watched with caution as her father outstretched his arm and rested his hand on the small of her back. She didn't bother to push him away, knowing full well it would be a waste of time. Sherlock kept his lips pursed, knowing that his daughter needed time to calm down before she went back and met John as he spent an evening in the flat getting used to it.

"What did you do when you left university?" she muttered.

"I'll tell you when I have a tea. I can certainly do with one."

...

A/N: Thank you to anyone reading and please do review to let me know you're reading! I know the pace seems slow, but I promise that it will pick up!


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock sat with the cup of tea in his hand. His eyes were firmly set on his daughter as she sat opposite him. He had managed to apprehend a booth in the small cafe, the stuffing from the seat occasionally poking out from the red leather. Elizabeth had a coffee in front of her, but her hands were firmly settled in her lap, refusing to move as she held them together.

The cafe was small and quiet, the only other customer was sat at a wooden table, playing on their Macbook whilst the waitress wiped down the counter for the umpteenth time. Clearly she had somewhere else to be as she kept checking the clock.

Sherlock waited for Elizabeth to say something, seeing that she was the one who had the breakdown outside an Italian restaurant. He kept quiet, his gaze refusing to ease as he watched her. He was always intense; Elizabeth could sense him waiting for her to speak. She just didn't know what to say to him.

"You've successfully been quiet for eight minutes now," Sherlock commented to her. "That's longer than I had expected."

Elizabeth finally peeled her eyes away from the table to glance over at her father. She kept her lips in a tight line; doing her best not to snap at him.

"What is it that is really bothering you, Elizabeth?"

"Can't you deduce it?" Elizabeth replied, her tone harsh as she cocked a brow. "I basically yelled what was wrong on the pavement. Did you not take any of it in?"

"And that is it? There is nothing else going on?" he checked. "You're just scared about what to do with the rest of your life?"

She scoffed. "I'm tired of everything."

"You're eighteen." Sherlock replied. "I never knew what I wanted to do when I left university. It was only by chance that I ended up doing what I am doing now. I don't know what more you want me to say, Elizabeth."

"At least you didn't struggle in university. I feel stupid whenever I go to a seminar and know nothing. I'm tired of not being interested, and nothing seems to interest me. I guess...well...I guess I'm just a bit lost at the moment."

"Really?" Sherlock muttered back to her. "I would never have guessed."

"You don't need to be sarcastic all of the time," Elizabeth complained to him. "It's really not nice."

Sherlock had no response to that. He kept silent and his face emotionless. It took a moment before a small laugh came from his daughter. She looked up to the ceiling and spoke;

"The last time I was in this cafe was when Lestrade was about to arrest you," she remembered the time she had seen her father and Lestrade arguing as she walked back from sixth form. She had popped into the cafe to see her father causing trouble.

Sherlock allowed his lips to rise slightly as he heard that. "Yes, he'd be lost without me. As I recall; he was being an idiot."

"Most people are to you," Elizabeth reminded him. "You have no idea how intolerable you can sometimes be. I managed all those years because the thought of going to university gave me some hope...but now...now that I want to come back...well...I don't know."

Sherlock coughed once and sipped on his cup of tea. "Remind me never to come to you if I need a confidence boost."

Elizabeth couldn't help the small smirk on her face. "I don't think you need a confidence boost. It would do no one any good."

"I suppose not," Sherlock responded. "Do you really hate living with me that much, Elizabeth?"

She shook her head, taking a second to think as her father looked at her with his mouth agape and his cup of tea halfway to his lips. "No, I'm just tired of you putting me down all the time. I know how much I have messed up, dad. I don't need to you to remind me. It doesn't make me feel any better. I get that you would rather have me move out, and I want to...just not at university."

Sherlock finally sipped his tea and placed the plain white mug back down.

"Have I ever said that?"

"What?"

"That I want you to leave? Have I ever said that to you?"

Elizabeth sighed and pushed her hair over one shoulder, stuffing her hands into her leather jacket pockets. "Ever since my mum...well...mum died...I've never felt like you've really wanted me around. Even when I was eight; you told me I was a distraction."

"You had spilt your orange juice all over the hospital reports," Sherlock recalled. "Of course you were a distraction when you were younger. You're not as much of a nuisance now, but you still are annoying."

"When?"

"The time you came home drunk and I had to hold your hair back as you emptied the contents of your stomach. I think that was when you found out you had been accepted into university."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, recalling the time when that had happened.

"You didn't enjoy it though, did you? I get that you've never been a normal father. I came to accept that, but there is a limit to what I can accept. You know that, don't you?"

Sherlock kept his lips pursed, pressing the mug of tea against his lips and sipping it. He tried his best to think of something to say to her. He knew that he had to do something for she looked rather alarmed with him. Did she expect him to soothe her? Did she expect him to promise to change just for her? He was unable to do any of that.

"You're my daughter," Sherlock commented. "Elizabeth, you're my only daughter and I...well...I am under a duty to care for you...but...it is not always a duty."

Elizabeth did her best to decode his words. She often wondered why he was so cryptic, but she came to realise that it was mainly just who he was. Sherlock was not one to toy with emotions. He was not one to care for people, but he did find himself caring for his daughter. He just couldn't admit that.

"I do not hate you living with me," Sherlock shook his head and waved his hand breezily. "Besides, I find your company quite enjoyable sometimes."

Elizabeth shook her head, knowing full well that was as good as it got. She drained off the rest of her drink and looked across to her father, nodding hastily. She would let the matter drop for the time being. It was easier to accept Sherlock than to fight with him.

"I am not normal," Sherlock told her. "But...well...I will try to make a bit more of an effort around you. I make no promises."

"That's good enough," she whispered to him and Sherlock stood up, pulling the collar to his coat up. "Now come along; we shall walk home and I will tell you about John."

"Is he moving in?"

"He's probably gone home by now, but yes; I think he will move in. He seemed to like the flat."

Elizabeth shrugged about in her leather jacket, managing to stand up next to her father. Sherlock rested his hand on the small of her back and led her out of the cafe. He kept quiet for a moment and looked down at her, knowing full well she would get back to her usual self soon enough.

"Did you hide the skull from him?" Elizabeth checked. "That would have been the best thing to do."

"No," Sherlock replied. "He didn't mind the skull actually. Mrs Hudson doesn't approve of it too much though."

"There's probably a reason for that," Elizabeth scoffed and she watched as her father slipped his leather gloves onto his fingers in the cold night. She shoved her hands into her pockets and aimlessly wandered by his side down the emptying path.

"Oh God."

Elizabeth looked at her father as he groaned, his eyes set firmly straight in front of him. She followed his line of sight and saw a familiar looking woman moving down the path, her smile wide and her laugh hysterical. She had her arm linked with a man, her eyes set firmly on the man who was looking down at her.

"Oh, Sherlock!" she squealed suddenly, noticing the man as he stood still and Elizabeth stopped by his side, looking at her father as he inclined his head.

"Molly," he spoke to her.

"Oh...I didn't expect to see you here, Lizzie. Sherlock said you were at university."

"She's dropped out," Sherlock replied. "Law wasn't for her. She's trying to find out what it is she wants to do."

"Oh," Molly startled. "I see...well...I could always see if the hospital has any jobs going at all?"

"That would be nice," Elizabeth nodded and beamed. Two jobs would be useful instead of just one. It meant more time to stay out of the house and out of her father's way.

"It would be a pleasure. Dead bodies are fascinating as Sherlock will tell you."

"Molly," Sherlock spoke, his voice warning as the man latched onto Molly coughed gently. She turned her attention back to him and nodded, pointing between the man and Sherlock. "Sherlock, this is Jim...he's...well...my boyfriend."

"I see," Sherlock said through pursed lips. "Well, we must get going. Elizabeth has had a long day."

"Of course," Molly said before Lizzie had the chance to question her father. She kept quiet and Sherlock took hold of her elbow.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Holmes," Jim said politely. "And you, Miss Holmes."

"Hmm," Sherlock muttered and Elizabeth was left to deal with the pleasantries as per usual.

"Nice to meet you too. Thanks again, Molly."

Sherlock kept his grip on his daughter's elbow and dragged her further down the pathway. It was only then when Sherlock spoke; his brows furrowed.

"I'm sure Jim's gay."

...

A/N: Thanks to koyandrs for reviewing and anyone following. Please do let me know what you think, it does mean a lot to me!


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock rolled onto his side as he rested on the sofa the following morning. Elizabeth sat at the desk, waiting for time to pass slowly so that she could make her way to the train station. Her ticket was booked on the mid morning train to head to Newcastle, an expense she found that her uncle had paid for when she later checked her bank account. Mycroft had text her once again, promising her that someone would be waiting for her to bring her back home.

"When do you go to Newcastle?"

"My train leaves at eight forty five," Elizabeth said, still sat at the desk and checking her bank balance, running through everything she had bought in the past few weeks. "Mycroft said that he's sent a car to bring me back. I should be home by night time...besides...I promised Angelo that I'd go into work too."

"Excellent," Sherlock mumbled. "John should be here this afternoon."

"Why?"

"He's coming to have another look around the flat. He wants to make sure everything is in order. I don't know why, but I didn't question him. He seems the cautious type."

"Everyone is cautious in comparison to you, dad." Elizabeth responded. She leant back in her chair and turned her head to the side to look at her father. "And do you not intend to get dressed today? It is nine o'clock."

"Soon," Sherlock mumbled. "Nothing's happening, Elizabeth. Everything is dull. There has been nothing in weeks. Lestrade is working a case which he is out of his depth on."

"They why not help him?" Elizabeth wondered with confusion etched on her face. Sherlock shook his head at her and rolled his eyes, doing the best not to look too put out with her suggestion.

"I'm waiting for him to come to me. He will do eventually. I know it is only a matter of time."

"At least it will keep you busy."

Sherlock didn't want to comment on her unusually chirpy attitude that morning. Perhaps she was simply happy enough that she was now leaving university. She had done it for good instead of worrying about everything. He had spoken to her about things that would happen, and she seemed intent on turning her life around.

Sherlock had no doubt that she would manage to do that. She was half a Holmes and Sherlock was certain that she had inherited some of his stubbornness.

"Hm," he gave a non committal grunt to her statement. "You should get going. I assume you need to catch the tube to King's Cross?"

"You assume correctly," she nodded and stood up, grabbing her leather jacket from the back of the chair. She picked up her small brown bag and her BlackBerry before checking her hair in the mirror. Sherlock had to roll his eyes at her vanity.

"Right, I'm going to head off. Promise me that you will try not to get into too much trouble whilst I'm gone?"

"I can make no promise," Sherlock mumbled and rested on his back, his gaze set on the ceiling above him. Elizabeth remained silent and zipped her jacket up. "Text me when you arrive in Newcastle."

"Why?"

"So that I can know you're still alive, Elizabeth." He grumbled. "Grant me with some parenting skill."

She scoffed and shook her head, moving out of the flat and towards the steps; calling behind her as she went;

"Have a good day."

Sherlock's brow furrowed as he sat up and looked to the stairs she had just rushed down. He ran a hand through his hair as he thought about her previous comment. When had she ever wished him a good day? There was something odd with his daughter. She'd not been so happy in months. Sherlock muttered an incoherent sentence and moved to change from his pyjamas, ready for Lestrade's phone call.

...

"Sherlock has a new friend, does he not?"

Elizabeth jumped back as she slid into the back of the car. She looked across the seat to where her uncle sat. He was playing on his mobile phone, seemingly more interested in that than his niece. Elizabeth felt the car move as she dropped her bag into the footwell in front of her.

"I haven't met him," Elizabeth said. "I know that he is called John Watson and he was an army doctor, but that's it. Why do you ask? Why are you here anyway?"

"I had business up in Newcastle last night so I spent the evening in the city." Mycroft explained to her. "You should know that Sherlock doesn't have friends, Elizabeth. I'm intrigued as to who this man is."

"Hmm," Elizabeth agreed. "I don't know why he's moved in. Dad just said that he needed a flatmate to help pay for the rent. Baker Street isn't cheap to live in."

"No," Mycroft replied. "You've been with Sherlock since you were a young girl. Has he ever felt the need to have a friend?"

"Like I said," Elizabeth responded, "I don't know if he is his friend. I find it all a bit odd."

"Well, that's Sherlock in a nutshell, isn't it?" Mycroft spoke. "I'll have a word with John at some stage."

"No," Elizabeth replied. "You're not going to do that thing, are you? The thing where you send a black car to collect him and don't tell him where he's going."

"I like to keep an air of mystery," Mycroft said with a small smile. "You should know, Elizabeth."

"I've grown immune to it now," Elizabeth replied. "John will probably be worried sick if you do that to him. I think it's a bit harsh."

Mycroft smirked and shook his head at her, resuming to giving his mobile his full attention. Elizabeth sighed and dropped her chin into her hand, preparing for the long afternoon ride back to London and then the prospect of making it to work for eight o'clock that night.

...

221B was deserted when Elizabeth returned home. She dropped her keys onto the table and quickly changed into her tube skirt and white shirt, donning her leather jacket on top of her clothes. She pulled her hair into a ponytail as she grabbed her keys again and rushed out the house. She'd been amazed that they'd made it back to London in just over four hours. Mycroft's chauffer had dropped her case of in the living room, eyeing it with suspicion as she thanked him for returning her home.

Wandering through the streets, she wondered where her father had gotten to, longing for him to have found a case so that she didn't need to deal with his incessant complaints of being bored.

She managed to get to work with ten minutes to spare, smiling across to Angelo as she began waitressing straight away. She kept a notepad and pen in her pocket as she wandered from table to table taking orders for food, drink and anything else the customer might need. She looked down as she headed to table seven by the window, doing her best to find her pen in the depths of her skirt pocket.

"Elizabeth, look up when you're serving. It's rude not to."

Her eyes shot up as soon as she saw him sat there, his gaze set on the window and away from her. She rolled her own orbs and noted the small man who her father sat next to. He looked perplexed for a moment before his mouth gaped open and he came to realise who it was stood in front of him.

"So you must be Sherlock's daughter?" he checked and she nodded, offering him her hand.

"I have that pleasure," she spoke and Sherlock scoffed. "And you must be my dad's new recruit?"

"John. John Watson," John replied. "It's nice to finally meet you. Sherlock told me you're taking a gap year."

Sherlock's gaze flashed across to his daughter and a look of understanding crossed between them. "Something of the sort. Anyway, can I get you anything to drink?"

"I'm working," Sherlock mumbled.

"So you finally found a case?" Elizabeth replied. "Is it the one with Lestrade?"

"Three suicides that are actually murders," Sherlock replied, glancing down the street and doing his best to discover who would come for the phone he had in his pocket. "The killer has the latest victim's bag which has her phone. I've text him pretending to be her to lure him out."

"And you're meeting him here?" Elizabeth hissed.

Sherlock looked at her with disgrace for a moment and shook his head, turning back to the window. "I'm not that foolish, Elizabeth. He should be stopping outside somewhere. I don't know where, but I am intent on watching."

"And he's dragged you along on this?" Elizabeth checked with John who sheepishly shrugged at her.

"It's a bit of excitement," he informed her and she snorted in an unladylike manner. "Besides, I thought it would be good to get to know what it is Sherlock does."

"Well, this is it," Elizabeth drew her hand out towards her father whilst he remained in his own little world. "So can I get you a drink at all?"

"I'll have a lemonade," John said and Sherlock shook his head, waving his hand in a dismissive manner.

"I don't-"

"-You'll have a pint of water," Elizabeth interrupted him. "When was the last time you ate too?"

"I don't eat when I am working on cases," Sherlock grunted, finally looking to his daughter and glowering at her. "It wastes time."

"You'll eat something," Elizabeth challenged him and turned on her heel, walking away and leaving Sherlock to mimic her as she went.

John laughed once and then coughed; straightening out his face once Sherlock turned his glare onto him. John nodded and did his best to make his lips form a straight line.

"It's sweet," he replied with a solemn nod. "She clearly does care about you. She seems like a nice girl."

Sherlock kept quiet and arched a brow, watching Elizabeth as she chatted to the waiter behind the bar, patiently stood there and waiting for the drinks to come. She looked back to her father and her lips tugged upwards before she pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and went back to conversing with the waiter.

Perhaps she did care more than he thought.

...

A/N: So thank you Guest for being the only reviewer! I do hope people are enjoying it so far and if you've read then please review pretty please?


	5. Chapter 5

One moment Sherlock was there, and the next he was gone. Elizabeth had gone to fetch John's order from the kitchen. Her father's order of a simple sandwich had been completed a while ago, but John had decided to go all out considering the meal was free.

Elizabeth held it in her hands, wandering back over to the table only to look up and see that there was no one sat at it. Her brows furrowed and she shook her head, her father's uneaten sandwich on the wood. She peered out of the window to see if she could see them but there was no sign of her father's tall figure.

"Every single time," she muttered to herself in regards to her father's disappearing act. She shook her head and took both meals back to the kitchen, wondering where they could have gotten to.

...

Elizabeth walked back home alone that evening, a doggy bag of food in one hand and John's walking stick in the other hand. She entered 221B later on in the evening, the sound of banging from upstairs catching her attention. She left the stick on the table by the mirror along with the food, her hand holding the banister as muffled voices entered her ears.

"Elizabeth...where have you been? Where's your father?"

Her brows furrowed as she turned around to look at Mrs Hudson and her shrill voice before she looked back up the steps, confusion evident on her face.

"He's on a case. What's going on?"

"The police are upstairs," Mrs Hudson sighed, shaking her head back and forth. "They're looking for drugs...Sherlock...doing drugs..."

Elizabeth groaned and pushed her hair behind her ears. "Bloody hell."

She climbed the stairs up to the flat, looking into the living room and discovering Lestrade stood proudly in the centre, multiple officers around him who were looking through the flat, searching every nook and cranny they could find.

Lestrade groaned once he saw the younger Holmes enter the flat, dropping her bag to the floor before she flapped her arms by her sides. He suspected she would not be happy, but she would be more tolerable than Sherlock.

"A drug bust?" she snapped. "I know I've studied law for less than a year, but I suspect you need reasonable grounds to be here?"

"We do have reasonable grounds," Lestrade assured her. "Your father is withholding vital information from us. I would class that as important."

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth took a moment to think before she spotted the vaguely familiar face of Anderson and Donovan in the kitchen, the pair of them leaning close together and muttering about something under their breath.

"They're hardly on the drug squad."

"No," Lestrade agreed once he had followed her sight of vision. "Most of them aren't on the drug squad, but they were very keen to be here."

"This is ridiculous," Elizabeth snorted as someone pushed past her with her laptop in their hands. She opened her mouth to snap something before Lestrade wrapped his hand around her arm and hauled her into the corridor, leaning down to whisper to her.

"Is there anything?" he wondered seriously and she searched his gaze.

Both of them knew full well that her father experimented with drugs. His homeless network gave him that chance, but he used them for his theories mainly. She knew that was irrelevant. Sherlock would still be in trouble if they found anything.

"I don't know," Elizabeth whispered. "Why do this if you worry about finding something?"

Lestrade looked at her as she dropped one hand to her hip and looked at him with a stern gaze. She certainly had Sherlock's stubbornness.

"Sherlock's becoming too complacent, Elizabeth," he informed the girl. "He cannot go around and hide information from us. He knows that, yet he still does it."

Elizabeth shook her head and moved back into the living room, pushing her way past Lestrade. She moved through the kitchen and down the corridor, opening the door into her father's room. It seemed no one had decided to do a thorough search in there yet. She closed the door and turned the lock, falling to her knees and pulling drawer upon drawer from its resting place, searching for any sign of any drug.

It was a couple of minutes later when she heard the door pull and she turned her head to look at it, glancing across as the doorknob twisted to no prevail. She shoved the final drawer into place and heard a familiar dulcet tone from the doorway.

"Elizabeth, open this door."

She rolled her eyes and moved to the door, doing as her father had commanded. He stood there with his eyes set on her and his brow arched before his lips twisted into a smirk.

"Find anything?" he wondered.

"I was trying to protect you," Elizabeth mumbled. "I know what you're like, dad. You could have been in trouble."

"Do you honestly think I'm foolish enough to leave anything incriminating in a place like a drawer?" Sherlock wondered from her. "And I do hope that you haven't messed up my sock index."

He placed his hand on her back, steering her from his room and towards the living room again, slamming his bedroom door behind him as he did so. He took another moment to look around as John spoke harshly to Lestrade. He was well aware that things could turn ugly if he allowed Donovan and Anderson the chance to speak.

His lips formed a tight line before he spoke to Elizabeth. "Go downstairs to Mrs Hudson. She'll make you a cup of tea."

"I don't want-"

"-It isn't a question of what you want, Elizabeth; it is a question about what you shall do. Now go and leave me be to sort this mess out."

She groaned but accepted his order, stomping out from the flat as her father snarled at Lestrade, clearly unimpressed with everything that was going on his flat. Lizzie stood at the bottom of the stairs, doing her best to eavesdrop in the conversation before she heard a knock on the door.

Slowly, she turned around and looked through the peephole, an elderly man with white hair stood there. She unlocked the door and looked at him, recognising the badge around his neck indicating that he was a cabbie.

"Hi," she spoke and he smiled warmly at her.

"Miss Holmes; isn't it?" he checked with her. "Your boss sent me to bring your mobile phone back to you. Apparently you left it on the side at the restaurant."

Elizabeth patted her pockets as the cabbie moved back over to the black cab sat outside. She thought that she had put it in her bag, but she could have easily been mistaken. She pulled the door to, making sure it didn't lock as he opened the back door and reached inside of her mobile.

"Angelo sent you all the way out here to give me this back? That's sweet of him," Lizzie said. "I thought that I'd put it in my bag, but I couldn't have."

She took the device from him before she noted that it wasn't her phone. Hers had a distinct chip in it. She knew that straight away. Trailing off, she looked at the cab driver before she felt something prick through her body, the pain sharp as she felt the need to scream.

"What is this?" she wondered, tiredness slowly taking over her and she struggled to stand upright. "Who are you?"

"No one you need know about," the cabbie promised her. "Come on; we're going to play a game."

Lizzie tried to turn around and make it back into 221B, failing miserably as she noted no one on the footpath the help her. His arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her into the back of the cab, dropping her on the floor as she finally passed out under the bright lights of London.

...

A/N: Thanks to Guest, Lydia and Seventeenforeverxoxo for reviewing! I know I've twisted the plot but please do let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

The realisation soon dawned on Sherlock that the killer had to be someone silent. He had to be someone who could travel without being noticed. It was only when he heard the front door slam did he look up, ignoring everyone who spoke to him and called his name. He rushed down the steps in time to see Mrs Hudson leave her flat, hugging her garish pink cardigan tightly around her body.

"Elizabeth," Sherlock spoke his daughter's name to Mrs Hudson. "Is she with you? Did she just go out?"

"She hasn't come down to me," Mrs Hudson shook her head back and forth. "Why? Have you lost her? Honestly, Sherlock, she's your daughter. You should be able to look after her and not rely on others."

Sherlock ignored the ramblings of Mrs Hudson, deciding to open the front door and look down Baker Street, his eyes wide as he searched for any sign of Elizabeth's blonde hair and leather jacket. He saw nothing whatsoever, the eeriness of Baker Street finally making his causal demeanour crumble as a shudder ran down his spine. Sherlock shook his head back and forth, unable to comprehend where she could have gone.

It was only then when he noted a black cab drive past did something tick in his mind. He turned back around, gasping for breath as John and Mrs Hudson remained stood at the door, their eyes cast over to Sherlock as he shook his head back and forth, refusing to believe that his daughter could have gone missing.

"Sherlock? Is something wrong?"

"I...Elizabeth...I think the killer has her..."

"What?" John responded at the same time with Mrs Hudson. "How? Why do you think that?"

"Move," Sherlock demanded from John, shoving his way back into the hustle and bustle of 221B. He ran up the stairs as everything came together in his mind. He didn't bother telling anyone of his thoughts, knowing that would waste time that Elizabeth may not necessarily have. He used the pink ladies email and her password in order to track her phone, his mind now fully intent on finding the killer.

...

Elizabeth slowly came round, groaning loudly as bright lights entered her vision. She slowly pushed herself to sit up, slipping slightly against the recently mopped floor. She could feel the back of her tights were damp and her body felt weak and tired as she moved and her back hit a white worktop. She looked up and noted a wooden stool on the opposite worktop. She was instantly reminded of her time in the science lab at school.

"Sit on the stool."

She looked around the room, trying to find out where the voice had come from. She could see nothing either side of her or above her. She struggled to grip onto the top of the surface, her fingers slipping as she hauled herself up, collapsing onto the stool by her side. She groaned as her upper body gave out on her and her forehead smacked against the cool surface, a small sob coming out from her as she did so.

"Sit up straight," the voice demanded again and she struggled to do as he had asked, her limbs feeling like lead on her body.

"What is it?" she slurred. "What do you want?"

"Sherlock," he spoke simply. "You're the bait and his only weak spot. My boss wanted me to take you instead. He thinks it will be interesting to push Sherlock's buttons...to see if he can crack the case when his daughter's life is on the line."

Elizabeth felt her brows furrow before she shook her head, struggling to comprehend what was about to happen. She had no idea about her father's case, nor did she know why this man wanted her so much. She chuckled, trying to ease herself out of the situation.

"If you think my dad loves me that much then you're an idiot," she snapped, the motion causing her to wince as she tried to move even further.

"I'm cleverer than you give me credit for," he warned her. "Now, we're going to play a game."

"I'm fine," Elizabeth responded. "I got bored of games when I was five."

The man's brows furrowed before he leaned back slightly and studied the girl with curiosity. "You really have no idea who I am."

Elizabeth scoffed at that. "I've been a bit too busy to follow the news recently, and like I said, I don't know what case my dad's been working on."

The cabbie smirked and looked at the two pill bottle on the table. "Then this will be a treat."

...

Sherlock logged into the pink woman's account on his mobile and had the cab driver follow the exact route to the school where he needed to be. He sat on the edge of his seat for the entire journey, too scared about what he would discover once he arrived. He paid the driver and jumped out, rushing into the building and following the corridors were showing light.

He knew that this man wasn't going to be a great brute whom Sherlock had to defeat. No, this was going to be a game of wills and mind tricks; something which Sherlock relished. His mind remained in a whirl as he passed through each corridor with great haste, doing his best to find his daughter. It was the loud female voice which had him slam open the door to a classroom, the sight greeting him one which made his blood turn cold.

Elizabeth looked over to where her father stood, the pill swirling in her mouth as the cab driver held the same stance. Sherlock shook his head as soon as he saw her lips close around the pill.

"Do not swallow," he called loudly and calmly to his daughter. "Elizabeth, spit it out."

"Do it, and I will kill him," the cab driver warned her, the gun pointed at Sherlock through his fingers.

Sherlock studied the gun and shook his head, striding over to his daughter as she swayed on the stool. He rested his hands onto her shoulders as she kept the pill in her dry mouth, unable to speak with fear as he pointed the gun at the pair of them.

"It is a fake gun," he promised his daughter. "It is how he makes them do his bidding. Take the pill and have a chance of death, or don't and die for certain."

The cabbie had spat his pill out ages ago, knowing full well that Sherlock would ruin the game which he was about to play. He hadn't counted on the sleuth finding him this soon.

Sherlock held a hand out expectantly and Elizabeth spat it into his palm before he examined it, pocketing it and his daughter began to openly sob, the tears she had clearly been holding back coming out in full flow. Sherlock didn't know what to do as she cried. He moved his hand to her back, rubbing her leather jacket against her skin whilst the cabbie tossed the gun from one hand to the other.

"Here he is," the cabbie drawled. "The legendary Sherlock Holmes."

"Have I gone down in legendary status already?" Sherlock drawled out before his gaze narrowed and his tone turned harsh once more. "Why did you take her?"

"My employer thought it would be more fun this way. He wanted to see how long it took for the clever detective to find his daughter...and he didn't care for her death...he doesn't care for her. It is you who he wants."

"I'm flattered," Sherlock responded. "But why are you doing this? What do you have to gain by carrying out the dirty work of some criminal mastermind?"

"Tumour," the cabbie spoke back, pointing the gun to his temple. "I have less than a month left and children who need money to carry on. My sponsor pays generously and I commit no murders. They all look like suicides and I walk away cleanly."

Sherlock adjusted Elizabeth against his side. She still sat on the stool, clearly drowsy as he dared to wrap an arm around her waist, holding her to him and doing his best to check her pulse with his other gloved hand.

"Clever," Sherlock spoke.

"It is," the cabbie agreed. "So what do you say, Mr Holmes? Fancy a game?"

Sherlock kept quiet and pulled the pill back out from his pocket as Elizabeth shook her head. He placed the pill back onto the counter, looking at it with intrigue. Elizabeth wondered what was running through his mind before she looked up to his intent stare. He couldn't honestly be thinking of taking it.

She acted quickly, leaning forwards and grabbing the pill. She threw it to the other side of the room with as much force as she could muster before she fell from her stool. Sherlock startled for a moment and saw her collapse to the floor. He dropped to his knees and pulled her upwards against him.

"No," she blubbered. "You can't...dad..."

"I had no intention of doing anything," Sherlock responded and helped her to her feet. He sat her back on the stool before pulling his Blackberry from his pocket and waving it in the cabbie's face.

"The police are on their way. All I have to do is call them," Sherlock responded and the cabbie shook his head with a smirk on his face.

"Shall we see if you were right?" he wondered from Sherlock. "Shall we see if I gave your daughter the pill which would kill her?"

Elizabeth slumped against Sherlock again, clearly having trouble to remain coherent as he watched the cabbie swallow his pill with interest. It was only when he fell from his stool did Sherlock move and grab him by the throat, refusing to let him day without knowing who had ordered him to take his daughter.

"Who is your sponsor?" Sherlock snarled, squeezing the man by the throat as he gasped for breath, a slim smirk still on his face as he did so.

Sherlock could barely hear the whisper he emitted as he spoke. "You'll never find him...Moriarty is too clever for even you..."

Sherlock listened to his last breath before dropping him to the floor and standing up. His coat whirled around him as he rushed over to Elizabeth once more, bending down to her height.

"Are you alright?" he wondered from her and she looked him in the eye.

"You cannot be serious," she mumbled. "He almost killed me...he..."

"You had the right pill," Sherlock responded. "The police should be here soon. I want to get home before they question me."

Elizabeth startled for a moment as she felt her father haul her upwards into his arms. She struggled to wrap her arms around his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder and groaned, feeling some form of queasiness coming over her as she closed her eyes and heard her father say two words she never thought he'd say to her.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered. "I never wanted you to get hurt."

...

"The last of it should pass through her system soon," John informed Sherlock once he got his daughter back home.

He was sat in his armchair, his hands clasped together under his chin as he watched his daughter sleep on the sofa. John settled into the seat next to him and wondered if he intended to tell him what had happened in the school. Sherlock had barely said anything, deciding to ignore John and keep his eyes firmly set on his daughter, watching as she steadily breathed, her chest rising up and down.

John could tell there was something wrong with Sherlock. Something had happened and Sherlock was acting stranger than he had done before. John had only known him for a few days, but he knew that something was off.

"When will she be back to normal?"

John sighed and rubbed his hand over his brow. "Tomorrow?" he suggested. "I don't know. It might take a while for the effects to wear off. These things affect everyone differently."

"Hm," Sherlock mumbled.

John leaned forwards and clasped his hands together, sighing as he did so. "So are you going to tell me what happened?"

John supposed he shouldn't have been shocked when he received no answer from Sherlock. The detective shook his head and remained sat where he was, refusing to look at John. The doctor sighed and stood up, leaving Sherlock to sit in that seat for the rest of the night.

...

A/N: SO thank you to katniss12, keori024 and Seventeenforeverxoxo for reviewing the previous chapter. I do hope that you'll review for me!


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock didn't sleep nor did he eat or drink anything for the next four hours as he watched his daughter sleep. Her breathing often became erratic and she tossed and turned on the sofa before slowly resting again. He contemplated telling her to go to bed, knowing full well that she would be comfier there. Yet he kept silent and said nothing, choosing to keep her in sight.

He didn't know what he felt about everything that had happened. There was some form of emotion running through him which caused his throat to clench and his orbs to widen as he saw Elizabeth look uncomfortable. He continued to shake his head back and forth for a few moments as she slowly stirred and rolled onto her back.

He noted her eyes flutter open and she suddenly gulped. He leant forwards, looking at her for a few moments before he stood up.

"Elizabeth," he whispered her name and she arched a brow, blinking profusely to clear her vision of small rounded dots. "How are you feeling?"

The girl kept silent for a moment and pushed herself to sit up. "Dizzy...sick..."

"Do you intend to be ill?" Sherlock wondered and she collapsed back against the sofa, her head hitting the cushion underneath her whilst Sherlock bent down by the sofa, the back of his hand resting against her forehead.

She took a moment to register his cool skin against her forehead before speaking. "I don't know. I feel terrible though."

"You've come out of the anaesthetic feeling weak and tired," Sherlock informed her. "It should pass in a few hours or so I hope."

"You hope," Elizabeth scoffed and shook her head as she did her best to sit up. Sherlock slowly moved around her, his arms outstretched yet not touching her as he saw her slowly sit up and double over, groaning as she clutched her stomach.

"Elizabeth, go to the bathroom," he demanded from her and she nodded, quickly standing up and rushing off down the corridor, bumping into the walls with her outstretched palms as she went. She finally turned into the bathroom and Sherlock sighed.

He ran a hand through his hair before following her. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, looking at Elizabeth as she wretched over the toilet, the smell entering Sherlock's nostrils and making him wrinkle his nose. He took a few moments before he stood over her, collecting her hair from her face as she continued to lean over the toilet.

"What was this?" Elizabeth finally asked, spitting into the toilet before reaching up for the handle to flush away the contents. She remained crippled for a moment, waiting for a wave of nausea to pass through her. She finally closed the toilet seat and took to sit on it.

Sherlock cocked a brow and perched on the edge of the bathtub, almost knocking over Elizabeth's shampoo bottle as he did so. He looked to her, noting sweat forming on her brow and the paleness of her face.

"This was you being sick into the toilet, Elizabeth," Sherlock informed her and she shook her head at him.

"I meant what happened," she replied. "I remember being in a school and almost swallowing a pill...but then you came...and he died but said something about Moriarty."

Sherlock took a moment to study his daughter before nodding. "The apparent suicides which had taken place were constructed by him to pay for his children by a sponsor whilst he was dying from a tumour. His sponsor is called Moriarty, but I have no idea what that means. He took you to get to me."

Elizabeth chuckled under her breath and pushed her hair from her face. She slowly moved to stand up. "He shouldn't have bothered."

Sherlock's brow furrowed as he heard her. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Elizabeth lied and she rested against the wall for a moment and longed for sleep once more.

"You think that I wouldn't care if he had killed you?" Sherlock wondered, a slight tone of annoyance running through his voice as he did so. Annoyance and hurt. "Do you think I would be okay to see your corpse on the floor? Or that I would be fine with burying you six feet under? Is that what you think, Elizabeth?"

She said nothing, remaining slightly sheepish for a second or two as Sherlock stood near her, bending down to look her in the eye, his gaze narrowed and intense.

"I can assure you that I care more than you seem to think. Just because I do not show it like normal fathers does not make me comfortable with the idea of some psychopath kidnapping you and taking you away from me. You cannot even begin to comprehend the thoughts which ran through my head when I found out...how I spent my minutes willing to find the man and bring you back home. You are my daughter, Elizabeth, regardless of everything."

Sherlock watched her gulp loudly before he dared to rest his hand on her shoulder.

"I think it might be bed time," Sherlock told her and guided her into her room.

He could barely find his way through the piles of clothes on the floor which she had thrown there after she had unpacked from leaving university. Her duvet was askew over her bed and Sherlock helped her into the bed before standing tall and dropping his hands onto her hips. Elizabeth pulled the duvet up her body and turned onto her side.

"I'm sorry," she muttered to him and looked up into his orbs. "I knew you'd come...I just..."

"Things have been tricky," Sherlock nodded in agreement. "The past few weeks have been difficult for you, but never doubt that I do care for you. I always will do."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement slowly. "Same...you know...I...well..."

"I know," Sherlock nodded, rocking back and forth on his heels. "I will fetch you a drink of water; you try and get some rest. You'll no doubt need it."

Sherlock left the room and moved into the kitchen, taking a moment to brace his hands on the side of the sink, leaning forwards and allowing his hair to fall into his face. He shook his head slowly, thinking about the sight of Elizabeth so weak and near death. A sense of illness ran through him before he shook it away and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. He poured water from the sink into it before wandering back through to her room, resting the glass on her bedside table.

He noted she was already sleeping soundly and so turned to leave, almost tripping over her stuff as he did so. He muttered under his breath before closing her door and resuming his previous seat in his armchair, still trying to work out the mystery of Moriarty.

...

"I called Angelo for you this morning," Sherlock spoke once he saw his daughter enter the living room. He was dressed in his purple shirt with his usual blazer over the top as he gnawed on a slice of toast. "I told him that you were not going to be at work today, and your grandparents are coming up. I completely forgot to tell you, but they seem intent on taking you out for afternoon tea."

Elizabeth placed a hand to her forehead and squinted through the sleep in her eyes. "Grandma and Grandad are coming up?" she checked with him.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "You should go and get dressed. I assume you feel up to some fresh air, of course I can always tell them you're too ill to go with them. How do you feel, by the way?"

Elizabeth groaned and settled down in her father's armchair whilst he stood by the fireplace.

"I'm fine...just groggy," she mumbled. "Oh, and worried that someone might try to kill me again."

"You have no reason to worry about that," Sherlock assured her. "I shall make sure that I find Moriarty and no harm shall come to you."

"Hmmm," she sceptically responded to him. "Anyway, I guess it will be nice to see Grandma and Grandad again...you don't intend to tell them about yesterday?"

Sherlock shook his head. "It wasn't in my intention to do so. Your grandparents don't need to know what happened...they'd have you living in the countryside with them and waking up to the sound of cockerels every morning."

"Sounds nice."

"Sounds dull," Sherlock responded. "Of course; if you feel safer then you can always go with them. I am sure they wouldn't mind in the slightest."

"Do you want me to go with them?" Elizabeth twisted the question and Sherlock rolled his eyes and clasped his hands together, checking his reflection in the mirror for a moment. "Besides, I don't want to go...no...it's probably best to keep quiet what happened."

"Probably," Sherlock weakly agreed, the feeling of guilt still coursing through his veins as he did so. He clapped his hands together and motioned back to the hallway with his chin. "You should go and change. They'll be here soon."

"Are you coming with us?"

Sherlock grumbled and paced by the fireplace, wondering what horrific plans his parents had for the day. He only longed that they didn't drag him around all the tourist sites again; he didn't know if he could handle the queuing for hours on end whilst his parents commented on every little thing.

"Unfortunately so." Sherlock grunted. "Now go and get ready."

Elizabeth did as her father demanded her, feeling herself cheer up at the prospect of seeing her grandparents for the day. She changed into her simple black skirt and tucked a white blouse inside of it, shrugging into her blazer as she did her best to look smart. She was well aware that her grandparents only settled for the best when they came down to visit. They found London too intoxicating to stay for longer than that.

She closed her eyes for a moment as she heard her grandmother's familiar shrill tones in the living room. A small smile spread on her face as she wandered back down the hallway.

Sherlock finished fastening his scarf around his neck as he saw his daughter walk back down the corridor, leaning to the side as she peered around the corner to spot her grandparents stood by the sofa, looking around the flat with intrigue.

"Ah, here she is!" her father called out at the sight of her.

Maria and Christopher Holmes beamed at the sight of their only grandchild, wondering if there would ever be any others. They doubted it. Sherlock stood back as his parents gushed over his daughter and he could feel his lip curl up to one side; whilst they fussed around her then they left him alone.

"Your father told us you left university, was it not working out, sweetheart?" Maria wondered and Elizabeth shook her head.

"Not really," she said. "I'm working whilst I try to figure out what I want to do. There's no reason getting into debt when I don't need to."

Maria nodded profusely and Sherlock wondered if she would have been so sympathetic if he had told her that he intended to drop out of Oxford. He somehow doubted it very much. Shaking his head back and forth, he grabbed Elizabeth's winter coat from the back of a chair, handing it to his daughter as Maria promised her everything would get better soon.

Elizabeth shrugged into the black coat, buttoning it up to her neck before John coughed and spoke;

"Mycroft tells us he has a table reserved at Harrods for afternoon tea and tickets for Les Mis tonight."

"Oh God," Sherlock complained. "Mycroft intends to join us, does he?"

"He is your brother, Sherlock," Maria scolded. "It would be nice to see both of you whilst we are here. Besides; when was the last time we did anything as a family?"

"Never," Sherlock commented with arched brows. "And I do think that there could be a reason for that."

Christopher chuckled and Maria looked at Sherlock with narrowed eyes, almost daring him to say anything further and get away with it. "Come along; we should be going. Traffic in this city is always chaos."

Christopher and Maria led the way out of the flat. Elizabeth walked in front of her father before taking to the stairs. "Are we taking the tube?"

"Oh no," Maria laughed lightly. "We'll call a cab. Your grandfather finds it a challenge, yet he still insists on being the one to do it."

Elizabeth froze once she reached the bottom of the steps and her grandmother had informed her of the plan. A cab. She didn't know how she could handle stepping foot into a cab again. She gulped and watched as they opened the front door, looking back over their shoulders to the sight of Sherlock and Elizabeth.

"Is everything alright?" Maria wondered from them.

"Fine," Sherlock said, knowing full well what the matter with his daughter was. "I think Elizabeth forgot something. You go and find a cab."

They took another hesitant look but did as they were instructed. Sherlock placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look him in the eye. Elizabeth shook her head quickly.

"I can't get in that...not again..."

"Yes, you can," Sherlock promised her. "Nothing shall happen to you, Elizabeth. Everything will be fine. He has gone and cabs are perfectly safe. I promise you."

She said nothing for a moment, allowing his words to sink in before nodding. He was right. They had to be safe. She couldn't live in fear of taking public transport. It would be foolish.

"Okay?" Sherlock checked and a small nod came from her before he placed his hand on the small of her back and led her from the flat.

His parents had already managed to find a cab, but he paid them not attention as he continuously looked down at Elizabeth, not even flinching as she dared to move her hand to hold onto his like she did when she was a young girl.

...

Mycroft was already stood on the pavement, umbrella in his hand as he waited for his parents to make their appearance known. They soon exited a cab with Sherlock and Elizabeth closely behind them.

"Mycroft!" Maria gushed over her eldest son, kissing him on each cheek.

He was much more accommodating than Sherlock was. Mycroft nodded to his father before looking to Sherlock, knowing full well that he had to have a conversation with him at some stage during this family outing. If there was something which Mycroft detested it was that he had to act like a normal family.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said and then smiled down to Elizabeth. "And my dear niece."

"Mycroft," Sherlock drawled.

"Well, I believe we do have half an hour before the table reservation," Mycroft drawled, "so perhaps you would care to look around."

"Oh yes!" Maria gushed and took her granddaughter by the arm. "The food hall in Harrods is simply splendid! What was that tea which came in the hamper Mycroft sent up last time, Christopher? Can you remember?"

"We'll soon find out," Christopher nodded and walked by his wife's side as she practically dragged Elizabeth into the large department store.

Sherlock stood back for a moment, turning his coat collar down before he followed with Mycroft by his side; both of them calmly moving past the frantic shoppers.

"I'm shocked you brought her out today," Mycroft drawled, umbrella in hand as he moved down the shop, making sure he kept his parents in sight. "After last night she must be shook up."

Sherlock said nothing for a second, looking around the vast space where people spent money on luxury items. He dodged two women shoppers before speaking to his brother again;

"She is stronger than you seem to think," Sherlock informed his brother. "What happened last night shall not happen again."

"And you'll make sure of that, will you?" Sherlock checked with his brother. "You intend to keep an eye on her for the rest of time?"

"No," Sherlock replied. "I intend to find Moriarty. I don't suppose you've heard of him in the government."

"No," Mycroft responded, "and if I had done then he wouldn't be walking freely on the streets."

Sherlock's lips tugged upwards. "I never knew you cared so much."

"She is my niece and she is stuck with you as a father. I suppose I cannot help but feel for the poor girl," Mycroft drawled, swinging his umbrella as they finally came to the food hall. He noted his parents looking at the tea with Elizabeth. "Have you considered sending her to our parents whilst you sort this mess out?"

Sherlock shrugged and held his hands behind his back. "It did cross my mind last night, but I would prefer to have her where I can see her. She isn't the one who this man wants...no...she is bait..."

"Even so, she almost died," Mycroft hissed to his brother. "I shall have her kept track of from now on. If you have no intention of letting her go then you need to do your best to keep her in your sight."

"Do you think I won't do everything I can to stop this from happening again?" Sherlock wondered as Elizabeth turned around to look back at her father and Mycroft as they loitered by the truffle selection counter.

"That's the problem, Sherlock," Mycroft drawled as he caught Elizabeth's gaze and she looked between the pair of them before turning to pick out more tea flavours. "I don't know what to think."

...

A/N: So thank you to katniss12 for being the only one to review the previous chapter. If you are reading then please do review! It really does help motivate me more!


	8. Chapter 8

Elizabeth looked around the Georgian Restaurant as she took a seat at the large round table. Sherlock slowly sat next to her, undoing the button to his suit jacket as he did so. He looked across to his parents as Mycroft settled down next to him and his father. Sherlock couldn't help but think of his brother's words from earlier on.

If he hadn't heard of Moriarty then things were looking back. Of course he shouldn't show his worry, not in front of his daughter and his parents. He draped his napkin over his lap before watching Elizabeth do the same, his gaze intense as he stared at his daughter. He wondered what she was thinking. He often found it difficult to tell, but as she spoke to her grandmother about their earlier purchases, he didn't know what she was thinking.

"And their meat selection was so vast," Maria drawled as she looked across to Mycroft. "I would love to shop here more often, of course it would cost a lot and I doubt your father would appreciate that too much."

"Not at all," Christopher chuckled as he reached for his cup of tea. "I still don't know how you boys cope being here. Does it not get too busy for you?"

"I suspect it is better than being trapped in the countryside," Sherlock drawled out. "You know how intolerable it is; there's nothing but grass and farms."

Elizabeth shrugged. She suspected it might be nice to live in the countryside sometimes, yet she knew she would get bored sometime. She was often bored easily and she suspected she got that trait from her father. She leaned back as the afternoon tea was placed in front of them and Sherlock looked at the food, trying to deduce what looked best to eat.

"So, have you been on many more cases, Sherlock?" Maria dared to ask her son as she took a bite of a cucumber sandwich.

Elizabeth picked up a prawn baguette and delicately ate it, doing her best to look posh enough inside Harrods. Sherlock sat back in his seat and took a gulp of the food, turning his eyes to his brother for a moment.

Mycroft simply arched a brow, silently assuring Sherlock that he had no intention of saying anything with regards to what had happened the previous days. They both didn't want their parents worrying. It would do no good. Elizabeth nodded for her father as he watched her sniff.

What was this feeling he experienced every time he looked at her? Where had his overwhelming need to be paternal come from? He was used to allowing Elizabeth to do her own thing without his permission. But now? Now he felt the need to keep her in his sight and every time he looked at her he thought of what could have happened. He thought of her dead; another lifeless corpse inside Molly's morgue.

All because someone wanted to get to him.

"He had a case about a missing woman the other week," Elizabeth spoke, sensing that he was watching her for some odd reason. "He solved it within the day. Apparently it was an insurance scandal."

"Yes," Sherlock slowly agreed with his daughter. "It was all quite simple to solve once I cracked the husband. He wasn't much use to anyone whatsoever. It does make me question the intelligence of people sometimes."

"Not all people are the same, Sherlock," Mycroft warned his brother.

"Yes, well," Sherlock drawled, "the human race isn't known for being overly complex."

"Honestly, you two," Maria chuckled lightly. "I have no idea where you get your brains from. You're both far too clever for your own good. It isn't a trait which you should flaunt."

Elizabeth snorted and picked up a small scone, cutting it in half and spreading clotted cream over it. Sherlock watched the motion before he nodded slowly.

"It's impossible to be too clever," Sherlock responded. "It's often necessary."

...

Riding the final tube at night was not what Sherlock had in mind as they stepped off at Kings Cross St Pancras. He bid his parents goodnight and Elizabeth managed to hug both of them, tiredly muttering her goodbyes.

Sherlock made sure he kept her by his side as they wandered to the Hammersmith and Apollo tube platform, standing there and waiting for the next tube to come. They had bid Mycroft goodnight at Westminster as they left the theatre that evening. Sherlock had suffered his parent's incessant chat for a full day, watching as they spoiled their granddaughter with anything she needed.

He and his brother had bickered in the background, both of them finally coming to an agreement that Moriarty had to be discovered. Sherlock's parents had disembarked at Kings Cross for their hotel near the station, both of them bickering over whether they should top up their Oyster card that night or the following morning.

"You've been acting odd all day," Elizabeth commented, looking to the screen which informed her there was another five minutes until the next train.

"How do you mean?" Sherlock wondered from her. "I've been fine all day. Admittedly sitting through a performance of Les Mis was not my favourite thing to do."

"No," Elizabeth shook her head. "There's something else...I'm just not sure what..."

"I think you must be tired," Sherlock observed. "I'll ask John for his medical opinion when we return home. I trust he will know what is wrong with you."

"There's nothing wrong with me," Elizabeth complained. "There is something wrong with you though. Besides, I've spoken to John one time...I still haven't properly had a conversation with him."

"You're not missing out on much," Sherlock promised her, clasping his hands behind his back. "He's like all the other humans out there; predictable-"

"-Normal," Elizabeth interrupted him with a roll of her eyes. "Whatever, I get that there is no point in arguing with you."

"There never has been," Sherlock muttered back. "Anyway, I think this is the train. Do try to stay awake until we get back to Baker Street; the thought of carrying you home does nothing for me."

...

It was half past eleven when Elizabeth took a seat on the leather sofa and turned the television on, watching some reality programme which had managed to capture her attention. Sherlock had changed into his pyjamas and informed her that he could see no sign of John which meant he must have gone to bed.

He settled next to her on the sofa, his arm hanging over the back of it as he looked to the television. He'd never been one for television; it bored him terribly.

"Mycroft text me," Sherlock told her, ruffling his hair as she pulled her legs up to her chest, resting her cheek on her kneecaps and turning to look at him. "He says that he has reserved tickets for the London Eye tomorrow. He wants me to entertain mother and father whilst he goes to Parliament to sort out some business."

Elizabeth yawned and arched a brow. "You hate doing tourist stuff. Are you sure you don't just want me to go with them before I go to work tomorrow night?"

"No," Sherlock said, "I'll come with you."

"Now I definitely know there is something wrong," Elizabeth told him, straightening her limbs out as she did so. "You let me show them all around Westminster and South Bank last time. I was going to take them on the Eye but we ran out of time."

"I must have been busy last time," Sherlock noncommittally responded.

"You were examining fungus," Elizabeth responded. "You weren't busy. You're trying to hide something from me...it's the only reason you'd act so strange."

"Normal people would class that as being offensive," Sherlock pointed out.

"You're not normal," Elizabeth responded. "Is this to do with what you said last night? What happened yesterday?"

Sherlock took a second to gulp and run a hand through his hair again before looking to the television. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I told you that nothing will happen like that again. I won't let it."

"You won't let it because you've been keeping me in your sight all day," Elizabeth said, finally piecing everything together in her mind. She shook her head back and forth and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Is that it?"

Sherlock nonchalantly shrugged. "You're my daughter, Elizabeth. I am entitled to make sure nothing happens to you. It is my duty."

She imagined that was as much as she was going to get out of him that night. She'd tried to push him before and it had only just worked. Emotion didn't come naturally to Sherlock. She felt a small smile form on her face and she nodded.

"I get it," she promised him.

She slowly stood up and stretched her limbs, yawning as she did so. She looked to him, wondering if she should thank him for being so concerned. She didn't know and she settled on doing second best. She leaned down and slowly kissed him on the cheek.

"Night, dad," she mumbled before turning on her heel and wandering off to her room.

Sherlock pressed his hand to his cheek for a moment, wondering when the last time she had kissed him goodnight had been. He kept his hand there as his phone vibrated in his dressing gown pocket. He pulled it out and read the message, his blood turning cold as he did so.

_The game is on, M_

But it wasn't the message which alarmed him; it was the photo of Elizabeth and his parents in Harrods browsing tea that got to him.

...

A/N: Thanks to FishFingeresAndCustard11, aandm20 and Seventeenforeverxoxo for reviewing the previous chapter! I do hope you'll let me know what you all think!


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock took a moment to look at the message before his brain took over from what he felt at the sight of his daughter. He quickly found Mycroft's number in his phone and clicked on it to ring. He pressed the phone to his ear and his brother picked up after the second ring.

"Are we exchanging good night messages now?" Mycroft asked; his tone one of sarcasm as he did so. Sherlock rolled his eyes in response and took a moment to inhale sharply.

"I need you to track a number for me. Someone has been watching me; they sent a photo of mother and father with Lizzie in Harrods to prove it. I think it could be Moriarty."

Mycroft went silence for a second or two and then spoke; "And why do you think that?"

"He signed it with an M," Sherlock drawled. "Who else could it be?"

"Quite," Mycroft drawled out a response and he sighed. Sherlock could also sense him pinching the bridge of his nose and running his hand down his cheek in exasperation. He had a sense that his brother was as worried as he was about everything.

"Elizabeth," Mycroft whispered her name, "is your number one priority, I trust?"

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "She always has been."

"Then keep it that way," Mycroft replied. "Send me the number which you received the message from. I shall have my people look into it. I'll also check the Harrods CCTV. In the meantime I suggest you keep a low profile and do your best to stay out of trouble."

"I'm never in trouble," Sherlock denied.

"Of course not," Mycroft said with a shake of his head. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

Mycroft hung the phone up and Sherlock listened to the dulcet monotone for a second before he lowered the phone from his ear. He held the device in his hand before texting Mycroft the details which he had asked for. He took a moment to close his eyes as he thought about what had just happened.

Sherlock slowly dropped his phone into his dressing gown pocket before he decided to move down the corridor and towards Elizabeth's room. He entered without knocking, startling the girl who was sat up in bed, her eyes set on the book which rested in her lap.

"Jesus Christ," Elizabeth hyperventilated. "Are you trying to scare me to death?"

Sherlock shook his head and noted that she was wearing her glasses on her eyes. He pointed to them and his brow arched.

"You never wear your glasses," Sherlock informed his daughter. "You almost refuse to wear them when you're reading."

Elizabeth pressed her hand to the frame and shrugged nonchalantly. "I've been getting headaches without them recently. I thought I'd read...it might help me sleep..."

"Hmm," Sherlock drawled and he looked towards her window.

Her room was simple, her bed pressed against the wall with a bedside table next to it. A desk sat behind the door and a wardrobe was next to it. The window was wide open, allowing a small breeze to enter the room and Sherlock walked over to it, shutting it firmly.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth wondered from her father. "It was open for a reason."

"You should keep it shut," Sherlock warned her and she pushed herself out of bed before wandering over to the window and pulling it open.

"It's boiling in here, dad. Have you been keeping the heating on for a reason? An experiment of some kind?" she wondered from him and lifted the net curtain up to tug at the window.

It was only then when she saw a figure stood in the alleyway underneath her bedroom window. She startled as Sherlock looked down, watching as the figure walked away, turning his hooded face back over his shoulder to look up at the light shining from her window.

"Was he...looking..."

"Probably not," Sherlock lied to her, closing the window once more and dropping the net curtains down. He pulled the curtains as Elizabeth looked to her father and he forced himself to smile. "It is an alleyway, Elizabeth. People live on either side of it. Someone from behind Baker Street could be on their way out."

Elizabeth took a moment to look at her father as he did his best to distract her. He chuckled once and ran his hand down her hair. She felt herself look at his hand and caught his wrist, shaking her head after a moment.

"What are you doing? You're stroking my hair."

"No," Sherlock replied.

"You were," Elizabeth counteracted. "You're trying to distract me. Why? Who was he? What's going on?"

Sherlock took a moment to sigh before Elizabeth released his wrist from her hand and dropped her own fingers to rest on her hips, looking at her father with a challenging stare. She didn't know what was happening, but he wasn't going to get away with hiding the truth from her. She didn't think she could stomach it.

"I'm serious," Elizabeth demanded. "I know you're worried-"

"-He sent me a message," Sherlock informed his daughter, knowing that there wasn't much use in hiding anything from her. She had a habit of finding things out which he didn't want her to know. She always had done; even as a child.

"Moriarty?" Elizabeth checked, doing her best to keep her emotions in check. She knew that becoming hysterical wouldn't be for the best. She had to keep calm and trust in her father to solve the case; not that there was much of a case to solve at that moment in time.

"I assume so," Sherlock nodded. "I sent the message on to Mycroft. He's having someone look at it. I don't really know what to say, Elizabeth."

He handed her his phone and she looked at the message, shaking her head back and forth as she did so. "I need a drink."

Sherlock felt his lips pull upwards for a moment before she handed him the phone back and took to crawl back into bed, pushing her book away to her bedside table. She took another moment to remove her glasses and rest them back on the bedside table. Sherlock slowly moved to sit on the edge of her bed, lacing his fingers together.

"You're taking this better than I thought," Sherlock informed his daughter.

"By telling you I need a drink?"

"It is better than you having a mental breakdown, Elizabeth," Sherlock spoke, looking to the picture which sat on her bedside table. He slowly picked it up and looked down to the photograph which she always kept close by her.

"I...I think she would have killed you if she knew what was happening now," Elizabeth managed to finally comment and Sherlock chuckled, looking down at the photo in silence. "I remember bits when she used to drop me off here for weekends. She always yelled at you not to show me anything you kept in the fridge."

"Yes," Sherlock recalled; the photo of his daughter and her mother in the park on the swings keeping him distracted for a couple of moments. "She didn't particularly like me when we were at university together. I'm amazed she was so intoxicated to actually sleep with me. Although she did drop out when she was pregnant with you...attended an open college and studied history before learning how to become a teacher."

Elizabeth said nothing as she dared to lean forwards. She hesitated before she rested her cheek on her father's shoulder and looked at the photo. Sherlock turned his gaze down to the top of her head as he felt her soft hair brush against his neck.

"She was too young to die," Sherlock spoke. "She was a good mother to you. You always looked forwards to returning home to her after a weekend with me. It was only when she told me she had cancer when I wondered how I would cope having you here full time."

"I wondered too," Elizabeth said with a soft smile and Sherlock chuckled deeply, settling the photo back down on the bedside table before he spoke to Elizabeth once more;

"She would be proud of you," Sherlock suddenly spoke and a small smile fell on his face as Elizabeth sat up and looked at him with wide orbs. "You should know that, Elizabeth. You needn't look so confused about it."

"Just confused to hear you say it," she mumbled back to him. "Anyway, you should probably get some sleep. We've got a busy day sightseeing tomorrow."

"Tedious," Sherlock complained to her. "I doubt I could sleep even if I wanted to. Perhaps some TV might dull my mind."

"Yeah," Elizabeth agreed. "Actually...I...well..."

"You don't want to be alone," Sherlock stated, knowing what she was feeling.

A small nod escaped her and Sherlock stood up, pulling her duvet and stuffing it into his arms as he did so. Lizzie also stood and followed him into the living room, settling down on the sofa as Sherlock handed her the duvet once more. She draped it over her body as he turned the television on and flicked through channels.

He said nothing to her as he settled on some dull programme. It wasn't until he felt her head on his shoulder did he look to his daughter and then back to the television, finally allowing sleep to find him too.

...

John moved down the steps the following day, a spring seemingly in his step after a good night's sleep. He'd had 221B to himself the previous night after Sherlock and his daughter found themselves at the theatre for the evening. John had to admit that it was nice to look around the place without having Sherlock jumping down his throat all the time.

He moved into the living room, fully expecting it to be empty at half past seven in the morning, but he found the youngest Holmes stood by the sink, washing up her breakfast bowl from that morning. She heard footsteps and turned her head around to see John hesitantly stood in the doorway.

"Morning," she smiled to him and he waved a hand awkwardly.

"Morning," he responded. "I...well...I know we're met but..."

"Not properly," Elizabeth concluded for him, rinsing her soapy hands under the water before she grabbed the towel from the dining table. "Anyway, how are you finding it in Baker Street?"

"Hectic," John nodded at her, a small smile on his face as she placed the bowl away. "But it's nice...nice area...nice flat..."

"It's not bad," Elizabeth agreed. "So you were an army doctor? How did my dad persuade you to stay here without knowing you?"

"Because John enjoys the simple things in life, such as chasing murderers and having an adrenaline rush," Sherlock's voice interrupted as he stepped into the kitchen, a white mug full of tea in his hands. He dared to move his hand to rest on his daughter's shoulder as he threw the now cold drink down the sink.

"Does he?" Elizabeth wondered. "John seems more normal than you."

"Anyone is more normal than me, Elizabeth," Sherlock reminded her and she cocked her head to the side before shrugging.

The consulting detective moved to grab his coat from the back of his chair, shrugging into it before he checked his phone, a new email from an old acquaintance showing up. Sherlock groaned audibly and John and Elizabeth turned to look at him.

"What is it?" the pair of them wondered.

"Sebastian," Sherlock complained. "I went to university with him and he's recently got in touch to ask me if I would help to solve a case for him."

Elizabeth arched a brow. "I didn't know you still knew people from university."

"I haven't seen Sebastian in years, nor do I really want to. He is offering a great sum of money for my help though. Perhaps we should go there instead of be dull and look around tourist sites."

"No," Elizabeth quickly responded, reaching for her winter coat she had left on the kitchen chair. She buttoned it up to her neck and looked at her father with a narrowed gaze. "You promised Grandma and Grandad you would show them round. Their train leaves at half past one so you can go to the bank after that."

John chuckled darkly as Sherlock pursed his lips but said nothing. The doctor pointed to the detective and settled into the armchair he had claimed as his own. He reached for the newspaper from the arm before speaking;

"She's got you wrapped around her little finger, hasn't she?" John checked with Sherlock.

"Shut up," Sherlock snarled. "Meet us at Canary Wharf at two o'clock."

John had no chance to respond as the detective stormed from the flat with his daughter hot on his heels. John meanwhile sat reading the paper whilst sniggering to himself. How entertaining Baker Street was.

...

Sherlock didn't particularly care about seeing Sebastian again, nor did his money bother him. No, Sherlock could have done without the case seeing as every moment he spent with Sebastian ended up with him being ridiculed and mocked about how he was at university. But that wasn't the main issue. The main issue came when Sebastian brought up Elizabeth's mother; a topic which Sherlock had been determined to avoid.

His daughter was following him round like a lost puppy as he gathered all of the facts. There had been a break in and a mark had been left on a worker's office wall as some form of message. The CCTV showed sixty seconds apart which was the thing which baffled Sherlock. Yet he stopped thinking about working as soon as Sebastian mentioned her name.

"Jennifer...that was her name, wasn't it?" Sebastian suddenly called out and Sherlock closed his eyes as Elizabeth looked with wide orbs to Sebastian;

"You knew my mother?"

"The entire college-"

"-Shut up, Sebastian," Sherlock snarled at the man and the banker chuckled a couple of times, resting on the edge of a worker's desk and resting his hand on Elizabeth's arm. Sherlock noted the motion and clenched his gloved hands into fists.

"Your father here was a bit of a freak at university," Sebastian told her. "It was shocking when I found him with your mother in the morning...he knew that I'd been trying to get into her knickers for a while, but the dirty dog got there first."

That was when Sherlock felt himself snap. He reached for Elizabeth, tugging her arm and making her stumble away from Sebastian as John suddenly appeared after looking around the building.

"Don't worry, Sherlock," Sebastian laughed. "Just because I haven't had the mother doesn't mean I'll go for the daughter."

"That's disgusting," Elizabeth interrupted and Sherlock nodded.

"I rarely agree with my daughter, but she is right, Sebastian. You're a vile human being sometimes...well...most times..."

"You know I'm only joking, Sherlock," he said and pulled out a cheque from his pocket. "Five thousand now and then twenty thousand if you crack the case."

"Money doesn't interest me," Sherlock hissed.

Elizabeth shook her head, knowing full well that bills had to be paid. Her and John exchanged a brief look between each other and instantly knew that the money would come in handy.

"He doesn't mean that," Elizabeth said, slowly peeling the cheque from Sebastian and handing it to John for safe keeping. She winked at him before looking at Sebastian, regarding him with cold contempt. "He'll take you case, but you'll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that he solved something that you couldn't and that my mother had enough class not to sleep with some pompous arsehole."

John's mouth fell agape as soon as he heard her speak. He said nothing for a moment as Elizabeth turned around and stormed through the office. A smirk fell on Sherlock's face and began to fasten his coat again.

"My daughter's right, Sebastian," Sherlock drawled. "Do make sure no more murders occur whilst I'm gone."

Sherlock walked away and caught up with Elizabeth as she waited for the elevator. John rushed after them too, chuckling as soon as they were enclosed in the steel box.

"That was brilliant," John nodded to Elizabeth. "Honestly, it was amazing, Elizabeth...pompous arsehole...after taking his money..."

"I can't believe I just did that," Elizabeth shook her head back and forth before she heard her father chuckle deeply.

"It was, indeed, very good," he assured her. "Your deduction wasn't entirely accurate, but it was almost there. You could have mentioned he was very vain and slightly insecure too."

Elizabeth smiled as the elevator opened and Sherlock kept his hand on her back as they walked out of the bank.

"I'll remember that next time."

...

A/N: So thank you to FishFingerersAndCustard11, Valkyrie Of The Dead and Seventeenforeverxoxo for reviewing the previous chapter. So please do review and the next chapter brings Sherlock dancing!


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock entered the flat that night after collecting his daughter from work. He had been wandering the streets of London and doing his best to crack the case which John had called 'The Blind Banker'. Sherlock had left Elizabeth at Angelo's and had decided that he couldn't wait for her all night. He had wanted to. He would have sat in the restaurant and waited patiently whilst collecting his thoughts.

But she had told him to leave her alone and go solve a case. He would have disagreed, but Angelo had promised to keep his eye on her. She had been under strict instructions not to leave the restaurant until Sherlock reappeared and he managed to get to her ten minutes before the end of her shift.

"Oh, Elizabeth!" John called out as soon as he saw the young woman. He clicked his fingers and closed the lid to his laptop. "I recorded the programme which you asked me to record for you."

"Ah, you're amazing, John!" she called back, collapsing onto the sofa and slipping her flat ballet pumps from her feet, watching them drop the ground as Sherlock stood in the doorway, his hands unbuttoning his coat as he cocked his brow on his forehead.

"So did you discover much about the case?"

"What did you ask John to record for you?" Sherlock asked, ignoring his daughter's question as he took his own seat at his desk, resting his coat over the back of his chair.

"_Strictly Come Dancing,_" John informed his flatmate. "Apparently Elizabeth has a thing for watching celebrities trying to dance."

"Why did you not ask me?" Sherlock's brows furrowed and he checked his emails once again.

"Dad, you're great with technology, but do you have any idea how a television actually works?" Elizabeth wondered from her father.

Sherlock pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose before shutting the lid to his laptop once more, content with the fact he had checked his emails. He would let John respond to them in the morning. He didn't have time for such a mediocre task.

"It has never really been something which interested me," Sherlock admitted and he stood up. "Tea anyone?"

"I'll-"

"-Besides, I would have found out how to record it. YouTube is quite an aid," Sherlock interrupted John's request for tea.

"You can record it next week when I'm at work then," Elizabeth shrugged nonchalantly and pulled her tube skirt down her thighs, doing her best to make it longer than it was. She still wore her leather jacket around her shoulders, the chill of the autumn air seemingly getting to her and making her cold even in the flat.

"I'll do that," Sherlock called from the kitchen.

"Awesome," Elizabeth mumbled.

Sherlock wandered back in with a mug of tea in his hands, slumping into his armchair as he looked at the remote to the TV which was on the coffee table in front of him, crowded with newspapers and Elizabeth's magazines.

"That was quick tea making," Elizabeth said.

"The kettle was already warm. It had just boiled I think," Sherlock said and John rolled his eyes, closing his own laptop lid.

"I was about to say that I had just put the kettle on to boil and that you could make-"

"-That's very thoughtful of you, John," Sherlock interrupted once more. "Preparing tea in time for when I come back. You could have poured it instead of doing half a job."

Elizabeth smirked when she saw John's exasperated look which held his features. She couldn't help but snort as the doctor stood up and held his laptop under his arm.

"I'm going to bed. I've had enough excitement for one day," he shook his head and moved out of the living room.

"Night, John," Elizabeth decided to say.

"Goodnight."

Sherlock and his daughter lapsed into silence for a few moments as Sherlock sipped on his tea. Lizzie suddenly sat up and moved from the sofa, walking over to the coffee table. Sherlock was quicker and he snatched the remote from the table before she could reach it.

"What are you doing?"

"Proving to you that I am more than capable of working a television set," Sherlock drawled and he switched it on. "Now what was it that you recorded? Ah, yes, a mediocre programme about people who are dancing but probably cannot dance. I doubt they can dance as well as I can anyway."

"You dance?" Elizabeth wondered; a look of confusion on her face as she listened to him.

He looked at her condescendingly. "Yes. Why do you look so shocked?"

"No reason," she shook her head, sinking down to sit on the arm of her father's armchair as he wrestled with the TV remote. "So did you and Uncle Mycroft have ballet lessons together or something?"

Sherlock heard her snicker and kept his eyes focused on the box in the corner. "Now, now, Lizzie," he warned her and she snorted again. "And snorting is most unladylike."

"Ballet isn't very manly either," she retorted before she noted what her father had done. "You've deleted it!"

"No, I haven't," he denied, knowing full well he had but he kept pressing buttons to try and solve the solution. All he seemed to do was flip channels, voices blurring quickly as he did so. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and snatched the remote from him, turning the set off and folding her arms over her chest.

"You can watch it on your laptop, Lizzie," he informed her. "Everything is available online."

"At least it does prove a point," Elizabeth spoke and Sherlock stood up, buttoning the button to his suit jacket as he ruffled his hair. "You have no idea how to work the television."

"I doubt you're missing out on much," Sherlock waved his hand and moved over to the wall by the sofa, his eyes looking at the case notes which hung there. He intended to visit the museum in the morning. He had wanted to go that night, but he had Elizabeth to walk back from work. It seemed she was topping his list of priorities nowadays. Although that was how it should be.

"That is scarcely the point," Elizabeth reminded him. "So when did you learn how to dance?"

Sherlock watched as she slumped into his seat, falling from the arm and allowing her legs to dangle over it, her back resting against the other arm of the chair. Sherlock shook his head at her before she laughed once.

"What?" she wondered.

"You want me to show you," Sherlock spoke. "I won't give you the satisfaction, Elizabeth."

"Oh, come on," Lizzie said. "Mum used to take me to ballet lessons. I still know a thing or two."

Sherlock groaned before he unexpectedly moved with grace, his arms in front of him before he pirouetted on the spot. Elizabeth gasped at the unexpected motion and his foot stopped him as soon as he had done one clean spin, his arms making a bowing gesture as he did so. Elizabeth clapped and Sherlock found a small smile formed on his lips.

"How did I not know you could do that?" she wondered.

"You don't really pirouette during crime scenes." Sherlock nonchalantly replied and Elizabeth stood up, wondering if she could top his effort in some way.

"It would give Anderson and Donovan something to talk about," she shrugged back to him. "I wonder if I can still go en pointe."

"Oh God," Sherlock worried as soon as Elizabeth stood up straight and moved to stand on her tip toes. She took a deep breath and concentrated. "You do know that you need pointe shoes, Lizzie. They help to distribute the weight."

"Rose didn't in _Titanic,_" she simply replied and Sherlock stood in front of her, watching her with interest before she wobbled and fell forwards.

He reacted out of instinct, his hands moving to hold her shoulders and keep her upright as she laughed loudly and Sherlock chuckled as he kept his hands on her shoulders, watching her as she placed a hand over her mouth to stop her from snorting, a habit she had when she laughed loudly.

"So I think we have proven that I have beaten you in dancing too," Sherlock responded.

"You did one pirouette," she reminded him. "I could do them when I was eight."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose once more and dared to do something he had never done before. "Consider this a challenge then."

Elizabeth wondered what he was talking about before she looked at Sherlock's outstretched hand.

"Are you serious?"

"I am proving a point," Sherlock informed her. "A basic waltz is constant rotation, Elizabeth."

"Fair enough," Elizabeth said, taking hold of her father's hand and resting her other one of his shoulder as he gently took her waist. "Although I never thought I'd get you to dance...even on my wedding day."

"You've thought about your wedding day?" Sherlock checked with her, his face scrunched up.

"Most girls have," she responded.

"You need to date before you get married and the entire notion of it is lost on me."

"Don't tell me that I'll have to have Uncle Mycroft walk me down the aisle," she teased him further as he began to lead, moving them slowly around the room as Elizabeth followed each step he made.

"You won't be walking down the aisle if I have my way, Elizabeth," Sherlock responded to her. "Besides, why would you want a boyfriend? Don't they just stifle you?"

"I wouldn't know," she said sadly.

And that was the honest truth. She'd never had a real boyfriend, and she had never found anyone she would consider to be her boyfriend. She suspected she hadn't just met the right person. She only hoped she wouldn't end up alone.

"Anyway, the subject of relationships is wasted on me," Sherlock replied. "And your dancing is terrible."

"What?" Elizabeth snapped. "I haven't tripped over your feet yet."

It was then when Sherlock stopped moving and watched her foot trip over his. She stumbled as he kept a firm hold of her waist, a smug smirk on his face as Elizabeth frowned. Sherlock chuckled and spun her under his arm a couple of times.

"But we can't all be good at everything," Sherlock assured her as he resumed to holding her in the classic waltz position and she shrugged.

"I don't think I'm good at anything...not even waitressing," she mumbled and Sherlock shook his head.

"You'll find something," he promised her. "You still have plenty of time depending on the fact you don't die in the next few years."

"Lovely," Elizabeth commented.

"I do try to be."

"I should maybe go to bed. I'm doing the lunch shift tomorrow," Lizzie informed her dad and he released her waist, twirling her under his arm once more as he watched her tuck her hair from her face and move it behind her shoulders.

"And tonight went well, did it?" Sherlock wondered.

"You already know I spilt wine over a customer," she informed him and he shrugged as she kissed him on the cheek.

"I didn't want to annoy you."

"Makes a change," Lizzie muttered, moving down the corridor. She stood in the doorway before turning around and patting the frame to the door. "But Molly and Jim came in for a meal."

"And?"

"And what?" Lizzie wondered.

"Is he gay?" Sherlock asked from her as he sipped his now cold cup of tea and looked at her from the living room.

"I didn't ask," Lizzie said.

"Next time; do," Sherlock urged her. "Molly already looks a fool with him. It would be worse if he turned out to be gay."

Elizabeth smiled yet rolled her eyes as she turned in for the night, wondering if YouTube had the answer to her dancing dilemma.

...

A/N: So thank you to aandm20 and FishFingeresAndCustard11 for reviewing. I hope you'll let me know what you think as this was just a bit of a filler chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

"Are we importing a library?" Elizabeth wondered as soon as she stepped into the living room after working that afternoon. She arched a brow and shook her head, slightly confused as to the sight which was in front of her. There were piles of books in the middle of the room and John was looking through them with a bored expression on his face.

"No, we are not importing a library," Sherlock responded to his daughter, removing his coat and then handing her two copies of _Pride and Prejudice_. "What we are doing it trying to crack this code, so two murder victims have the same book which is used for the code. And so the numbers on this sheet of paper," he handed a copy of the numbers, "mean the page and then the word number."

"No," Elizabeth shook her head. "This is your case and nothing to do with me. Besides, I've just spent six hours serving people who enjoy making my life a misery."

"And I've spent three hours reading through books to no prevail," Sherlock counteracted, thrusting the _Pride and Prejudice_ copies into her hands. "Now get to work, Elizabeth."

She groaned and flopped onto the sofa, opening the books up and looking through them, wondering why she was bothering helping her father. She supposed she needed to do something to keep her brain working. It would be the only way she could try to keep up with her father. She rested on her back and felt him drop another book on her stomach. Thankfully it was only fifty pages long.

"Start with that one when you're done," Sherlock ordered his daughter.

"I need to go to sleep," John suddenly drawled out as the clock struck seven in the evening. Elizabeth's brow furrowed as she double checked the time.

"It's only seven."

"And I've been doing this since eleven this morning. I need to sleep for twelve hours at least. I have work in the morning."

"You've got a job?" Sherlock wondered suddenly, looking up.

"I told you yesterday. I have a job in the surgery for a few weeks," he informed Sherlock and stood up. "So I need a shower and time to sleep."

Sherlock kept quiet as he studied another book and tossed it on the floor besides his desk. Elizabeth bid John goodnight and went back to looking through another set of books. She sat up when the clock struck eight and looked over to her father as he remained intent on trying to find the book.

"Dad," she mumbled. "Have you eaten anything today?"

"Not since yesterday," Sherlock responded in a small mutter. "Food just gets in the way."

"I'll make some pasta," she said, ignoring her father and moving into the kitchen, wanting to do anything but read her father's books. She didn't particularly want to spend the rest of her night getting nowhere with codes from books.

She didn't know whether her father would sleep, but she would do her best to make him.

"I don't-"

"-I don't care what you want," Elizabeth interrupted him, moving to take hold of all the ingredients. Sherlock slowly moved into the kitchen after finishing the book which he had been working on. He stood in the doorway and watched her grate some form of cheese. He slowly moved into the kitchen and cocked a brow.

Even he was tiring of looking at books to no prevail. There was only so much misery he could take one case. Perhaps it would be for the best to have a small break and eat something. He normally didn't eat, but he could see that Elizabeth was cooking and her cooking had to be better than John's cooking. She often was the chef of the flat, Sherlock wasn't sure how to cook but Elizabeth had learnt at an early age.

"What are you making?"

"Penne Carbonara," she responded simply, still grating the cheese whilst her father nodded and watched her.

"When did you get the ingredients for it?" he wondered.

She hadn't been shopping for the past couple of days. She'd been in his presence for the most time. She settled her hip on the counter before turning to watch her father move into the fridge.

"John did the shopping."

"And where are my human eyes?"

"In the bin," Elizabeth responded. "It's hardly normal to keep them in the fridge next to the parmesan cheese, dad. Buy a mini fridge if you really want to keep human parts in the fridge."

Sherlock grunted a response and poured Elizabeth an orange juice to drink before going to sulk in the living room with his work. She noted the orange juice he left by her side and she smirked gently whilst watching her father wander off to the living room.

...

"This is weird," Elizabeth complained to her father as they wandered up the path towards the circus. He had explained to her why they were going to see the Chinese show, but she hadn't entirely been comfortable with it. And then she found out that they were gate crashing John's date. That made it even worse.

"How is it?"

"You're interrupting John's date with Sarah," Elizabeth informed her father. "And you're bringing me along."

"You always complain that we don't do enough father and daughter things together," Sherlock informed her and she rolled her eyes. She shook her head and slowly moved into the building besides her father, pulling at the red scarf she wore whilst her father ruffled her hair.

"See? We're a normal family."

She laughed and straightened her hair back out before she stood on the side of the road. It was only then when a car slowly pulled up and Sherlock rolled his eyes as the back door opened, stopping them from crossing the road.

"What do you want, Mycroft? I'm busy," Sherlock complained as his brother emerged from the vehicle, more cars passing by as the red light turned to green. Sherlock turned his coat collar up before he glowered at his brother, wanting to do nothing more than push him out of the way.

"What do you think I want?" Mycroft responded and motioned to Elizabeth. "I was on my way home when I heard where you were going with Elizabeth. I know what case you are working on."

"Do you?" Sherlock wondered. "How wonderful. Now come along, Lizzie."

Sherlock took hold of his daughter's arm before trying to drag her down the pavement. Mycroft reacted quickly, taking hold of Elizabeth's other arm and stopping her from going anywhere, practically trapping her and playing tug of war.

"Have you considered that this case could be related to your previous case?" Mycroft checked. "Do you know what could be in there, Sherlock? "

"Chinese performers?" Sherlock checked. "I doubt anything sinister will happen to me."

"We both know otherwise," Mycroft said, looking less than impressed with his younger brother.

Elizabeth looked between the pair of them before finally piecing everything together. "The murderer is in there?"

Mycroft grinned as Sherlock frowned, obviously having been caught out by his daughter. "The men who owned the books were murdered...and the museum lady too," Elizabeth spoke, airing her own thoughts. "You said that you were looking for someone like a tightrope walker who could scale heights...and this is a circus...full of people like that..."

"Her brain hasn't gone to waste, I see," Mycroft observed and Elizabeth shook her head.

"You can't go in there," she told him, doing her best to keep calm. "Even if it isn't Moriarty in there then there is some killer...probably...and what do you want to do? Have you called the police?"

"I need evidence first," Sherlock nodded at her and she shook her head.

"Your father doesn't particularly care for his own life," Mycroft responded to her. "He seems to think he knows what he is doing."

"Nothing would happen," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I would make sure of that."

"And I am sure you didn't mean for her to be drugged and almost killed too."

"You know about that?" Elizabeth checked as Mycroft hauled her closer to him and Sherlock fought back, keeping hold of her arm in his grasp.

Sherlock glowered. "He knows about everything, Elizabeth. He is the government."

"Now come along, Sherlock. It is bad enough that you're interrupting a date," Mycroft informed his brother. "John and Shelly, is it?"

"Sarah; you're slipping," Sherlock smirked and Mycroft arched a brow and looked to his car.

"I cannot keep up with romantic interests," he informed him. "Now, if you are longing to go in there and play the hero, don't take her with you. She is your daughter, Sherlock. I thought we agreed that endangering her would not be wise."

"Do you two talk about me often?" Elizabeth spoke.

"Don't flatter yourself," Sherlock warned her and shrugged nonchalantly. "Fine, you can return Elizabeth home and look after her until I come back."

"I'm eighteen," she interrupted the pair of them. "Actually, I'm nineteen next month. I don't need babysitting."

"Yes, you do," they both responded at the same time. "Come along, Elizabeth. I shall take you home and wait with you until your father deems it necessary to grace us with his presence."

She rolled her eyes once more and looked at Sherlock with wide orbs. "Don't go in there and be stupid."

"Stupid? Not a word I am familiar with."

"Or just don't go in there," Elizabeth said. "What if they kill you?"

"Too many people to try that," he promised her. "But do go back with your uncle. It would be for the best."

Elizabeth groaned as Sherlock released her and she stumbled against Mycroft before her uncle nodded and ushered her into the car, watching her slide into the seat before he slammed the door shut and looked pointedly at his brother.

"I didn't know you cared so much for her," Sherlock told her and Mycroft clasped his hands together.

"Someone has to make sure you don't do anything stupid," Mycroft replied. "Maybe you shouldn't go in there yourself, Sherlock."

"The case is on, Mycroft. I cannot give in now. Believe me, I can cope on my own, although your concern is compelling," Sherlock said, his tone sarcastic.

Mycroft groaned lowly and shook his head, slipping his mobile from his pocket. "I shall return to 221B, but please make sure you do come back soon. Babysitting is not my strong point."

...

A/N: Next chapter the pace picks up once more!


	12. Chapter 12

"Elizabeth, stop pacing, you're giving me a headache," Mycroft complained to the young girl as she walked up and down in front of the fireplace, doing her best not to seem too worried. She remained quiet as her uncle closed his eyes and wondered what trouble his little brother was getting himself involved in.

Truth be told, Mycroft often grew fed up with Sherlock and his reckless behaviour.

"Why did I not stay with him?" Elizabeth wondered, pushing her hair over one shoulder and then moving it to the other shoulder. Mycroft watched her with intent for a couple of moments, his eyes fully set on her as she then began moving through the boxes of books. "I should have stayed and then I wouldn't be worry, but no, instead I managed to get caught up in a tug of war with you and dad."

"Your father was foolish enough to take you with him in the first place, Elizabeth," Mycroft responded to his niece. "Have you ever considered staying with our parents?"

Elizabeth peered around the corner of the boxes of books to see Mycroft staring straight ahead at her, his brow arched and his fingers laced together as he studied her for any sign of fear. He wouldn't be shocked if she was frightened beyond belief after being told by her father that someone was possibly out to hurt him through her.

Unless he had said nothing; it wouldn't shock Mycroft. Sherlock tended to keep things quiet.

"And drag Grandma and Grandad into any danger?" Elizabeth wondered back and Mycroft shrugged nonchalantly.

"I am sure they would be fine," he responded. "I have their location hidden away. You can never be too careful these days, can you?"

Elizabeth gulped, truly wondering how much power her uncle really had on government records. She sat down in the chair opposite Mycroft, brining her legs up to rest by her chest, her arms hooking around her thighs.

"I don't want to think about it," Elizabeth mumbled. "Besides, it may not be too bad staying here. My dad isn't stupid."

"He isn't reliable," Mycroft replied. "You know who he was in the past."

"That's in the past and I was twelve at the time. I scarcely remember anything from back then," Elizabeth responded and stifled a yawn. She barely remembered the three months she had spent in her uncle's mansion. Well, it was a mansion in comparison to her father's dingy flat.

Mycroft cocked his head to the side and looked at her with wonder. "You remember how he treated you, Elizabeth."

"I remember," Elizabeth whispered. She did her best not to recall that dark time in her father's life. "I remember how he found it normal to bring drugs home...and yes...it frightened me...but now? He's clean, I'm certain he is and he won't start drugs again."

"Can you be certain?" Mycroft checked with her. "He turned to drugs when the going got tough."

"I can't see him doing it again, Uncle Mycroft," Elizabeth said, doing her best to find faith in her father. He'd been clean for years, promising her that he would never repeat that phase in his life. Even Sherlock felt guilt occasionally, and leaving his daughter in his brother's care made that feeling rear its ugly head.

Mycroft shook his head before he heard the door to 221B slam shut.

"We have to be getting closer to him!" Sherlock's voice echoed into the flat and Elizabeth stood up again, rushing to the doorway to see him stood there, pulling his leather gloves from his fingers as Elizabeth suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly to her.

Sherlock remained confused for a moment as he gently tapped her waist, waiting for her to get off of him. She pulled back, wondering what had possessed her to do such a thing. She took a step back and watched her father look down at her with a puzzled expression.

"Worried, were you?" Sherlock said; no hint of a smirk on his face.

She heard two other voices move up the steps as she nodded in agreement with her dad. She tugged on his coat sleeve in slight annoyance.

"What happened?" she wondered from him.

"Your father managed to get himself attacked by a Chinese gymnast," John informed Elizabeth and she arched a brow as Mycroft stood up, his umbrella in his hand as Sherlock finally noted his presence. Elizabeth failed to notice the woman stood to John's side as she dropped her hands to her hips.

"No permanent damage, Sherlock," Mycroft observed. "I told you not to get hurt."

"Thank you for your concern," Sherlock responded. "I have to say that it means a lot more coming from Elizabeth. She manages to sound sincere."

"I am sincere," Mycroft argued.

"No, you're not," Sherlock replied. "Anyway, you have been completely useless here so I suspect it is for the best that you leave the flat now."

"And what do you intend to do?" Mycroft wondered as Sherlock picked up a book and began to flip through the pages, ignoring his brother as he wandered off to the side.

Elizabeth shook her head and smiled to him. "Thanks for staying, Uncle Mycroft."

"Think on what I suggested, Lizzie."

"What did he suggest?" Sherlock wondered from her as Mycroft wandered away from the scene. "Elizabeth, what did he say?"

Lizzie watched as her father rushed through the piles of books, his eyes still set on her and she folded her arms.

"He wondered if I would be better at Grandad and Grandma's house for a couple of weeks."

"Just a couple of weeks?" Sherlock mumbled back. "I'm shocked he didn't offer to take you in himself like he did last time."

"You remember what happened last time, dad," Elizabeth mumbled before she spun on her heel to face John and the woman next to him. "You must be Sarah."

"Yes," she nodded and offered her hand to Elizabeth. The young woman took hold of her hand, still feeling her father's stare on her. "And you must be Sherlock's daughter."

"I am," Elizabeth said.

"Lizzie," Sherlock snapped his daughter's attention back to him as his brows furrowed. He was not finished with the discussion they had been holding.

"Is it me or is anyone else really hungry?"

"Oh God," Sherlock mumbled.

"Yes...starving actually..." John agreed, ignoring Sherlock's rude comment before he took hold of Sarah and led her into the kitchen, his hand holding her wrist as he did his best to drag her from Sherlock's sharp tongue.

"He mentioned what happened when you were eleven, didn't he?" Sherlock checked once John and Sarah were out of earshot. "He brought it up again, didn't he? He does know that this is completely different than before, doesn't he?"

"I was twelve," was all Elizabeth said for a moment after she gulped loudly. "And I know it is different. Uncle Mycroft just worries what will happen...if...Moriarty...well..."

"He gets too much for me?" Sherlock guessed for her and she shrugged awkwardly as John and Sarah settled on ordering a takeaway in the kitchen.

"I didn't say anything," Elizabeth whispered and Sherlock shook his head at her. "He worries about you just as much as I do."

"Oh, I am sure he does," Sherlock muttered and began to read through another book. "But he knows that I will never do that again, doesn't he? I have no intention of using like that again. I remember all too well what it did the first time."

"We all do," Elizabeth whispered.

"Sherlock...Lizzie...do you want any food?" John called from the kitchen.

"No thank you," Elizabeth said and Sherlock said nothing, his mind still somewhere else.

"You remember it?" Sherlock checked with her.

"Parts," she nodded in agreement with him. "It's hard to forget sometimes. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore, does it? You're clean and you have been for a long time."

"Hm," Sherlock grunted an agreement.

"Anyway, I'm going to bed," Elizabeth said and she quickly kissed her father on the cheek.

...

Elizabeth didn't hear the screams as she fell to sleep within ten minutes. She didn't even hear her door creak open, nor did she hear the footsteps move closer to her bed. She didn't even feel the drug enter her system as it knocked her unconscious.

It wasn't until she awoke in a dark space did she feel groggy and sick. She took a moment to collect her surroundings before she tried to move, finding herself unable to do so. She slowly came round, thrashing against the seat she sat in as she groaned loudly.

"She's awake now!" John Watson's voice snapped out loud. "She can tell you herself! I am not Sherlock Holmes!"

"And why would we believe you?" a woman's voice drawled and Elizabeth felt her eyes roll back, her mind still in a blur as she did her best to gain her thoughts. How many times had she been drugged recently? How many times was she going to suffer through her father?

"John," she said his name groggily. "What's happening?"

"See!" John snapped. "I am not Sherlock Holmes!"

"And your daughter is no fool," the woman chuckled, bending down to press a gun against Elizabeth's chin, shocking the young woman to open her eyes wide at the feeling of cold metal against her skin. She breathed deeply as she looked across to see Sarah tied to a chair too, her face also one of fear as John continued his yells.

"I was on a date! I am not Sherlock Holmes. She is not my daughter and I have no idea what you are looking for!"

"And if I were to shoot her right now?"

"You really shouldn't."

Elizabeth felt relief wash through her veins as she heard his familiar voice. She turned her head to the side, doing her best to deduce where his yell had come from.

"You should listen to them," Sherlock yelled down the tunnel, dodging sight for a few moments. "John isn't a bit like me."

"Mr Holmes," the woman called out, pointing her gun down the tunnel, preparing to fire at the first sighting of Sherlock. "A pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

"And do you normally greet people with a gun?" Sherlock questioned back. "You won't fire that thing. It will echo through the tunnel and more than likely kill you or anyone within close enough range. It isn't worth the risk."

Elizabeth groaned as she tried to move her limbs, doing her best to free herself from the ropes as she suddenly noted her father move into view, battling against a man who was twice as big as him. Sherlock felt his arm twist before Elizabeth noticed the woman who had been in charge flee from the sight. She did her best to shuffle on her chair, moving closer to Sarah in a feeble attempt to free her from her bonds. John seemed to have the same idea as Elizabeth became distracted at the sight of her father kicking the man in the knee and freeing himself from his hold.

The other men soon fled, leaving the four of them in the tunnel in order to save their own skin and continue on with their mission. The sound of police sirens was soon heard as Sherlock stood up, gulping loudly and moving over to Elizabeth.

"Are you alright?" he wondered from her.

She looked him dead in the eye and he could see it in her face that instant. She wouldn't be staying at 221B for much longer.

...

A/N: Thanks to anyone reading. The next chapter should be out soon but please let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 13

"Grandma and Grandad said that they would be thrilled to look after me for a few days," Elizabeth informed her father as she knelt on the floor, bending over her suitcase and throwing clothes into it from the floor next to her. She kept quiet, the back of her hand wiping her nose as her father sat on the edge of her bed.

"Of course they said they would be thrilled to look after you," Sherlock commented to her. "They think the world of you. But what do you think will happen?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth responded with a snap, pushing her blonde hair from her face as confusion took hold of her. She kept quiet for a moment as she pulled her skirt further down her thighs and changed position on the floor, curling her legs underneath her as her hand supported her weight.

"I don't know what to do," Elizabeth whispered to her father, peering up at him through her lashes. Sherlock slowly sank down to the floor and sat besides her, looking into her case.

"Stay here," Sherlock urged her softly. "I cannot protect you when you are in the middle of the countryside."

"You cannot protect me here," Elizabeth whispered, looking at him again before she slowly moved to rest against his side. Sherlock sighed and wrapped his arm around her waist, closing his eyes whilst wondering how long he could keep his daughter at Baker Street for.

"I will try," Sherlock promised her. "Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw the message on the window, Lizzie? I wasn't...I called your name and..."

Elizabeth shook her head and wrapped both of her arms around her father's as he moved his from her waist. She rested her forehead on his shoulder and felt a small tear in her orbs. Sherlock watched her for a moment and then awkwardly patted her hair down.

"I don't remember it," she mumbled against his suit jacket. "I just remember waking up and seeing John as he yelled at me."

"You were drugged," Sherlock reminded her.

"I've been drugged too much recently," Elizabeth complained. "What about if I go and see them for a week or so? I don't have to move out permanently."

Sherlock winced and nodded slowly in agreement with her. He suspected there was nothing he could do to stop her. Mycroft had their parent's details hidden away for no one to see. Sherlock was positive that Moriarty couldn't get her when she was in the countryside. Perhaps it would be safer for a while, but Sherlock wanted his daughter with him.

He wanted to be the one to keep his eye on her for as long as possible.

"A week," Sherlock solemnly agreed, "but you tell them nothing of what has happened."

"I hadn't intended to," Elizabeth promised her father. "You don't think I'm being selfish, do you?"

"By running away and leaving me to deal with the mess?"

"You make me sound like a selfish bitch," Lizzie complained and a grin formed on Sherlock's lips as he shook his head, his chin resting on the top of her head as he closed his eyes and chuckled darkly.

"I know you're not selfish, Elizabeth," he promised his daughter. "You're scared and I am doing my best to see why. Perhaps it is for the best that the fresh air will clear you brain."

"Hopefully."

...

"So you finally saw sense, did you?" Mycroft checked with his brother the following morning as he sat across from his brother, waiting for his niece to finish packing her necessities for her week away. He fully intended to go with her to his parents for an hour or two.

Sherlock had said that he would stay at home and do his best to find Moriarty, but Mycroft was beginning to wonder if he would ever find him. He had scarcely come close recently and it was worrying Mycroft more than usual.

"Elizabeth wanted this," Sherlock informed his brother slowly. "I did not wish for her to go."

"It is safer for her with our parents."

"So you keep telling me," Sherlock's brows arched in annoyance before he crossed one leg over the other, lacing his fingers together and resting them against his chin, his eyes firmly set on the brother across from him.

"This is the second time she has had her life risked by this man."

"We don't know if it was him the previous day," Sherlock replied.

"We can be sure enough," Mycroft responded. "She is my niece and she is making the right decision for once in her life. You need to see that, Sherlock, instead of sulking about."

Sherlock's brows furrowed and he shook his head. "I am not sulking. She is going for a week and she will come back. Why would I be bothered by this?"

Mycroft studied his brother for a second. He could see that Sherlock was slowly changing in front of his eyes where his daughter was concerned. He was growing closer to Elizabeth and he barely recognised it. He didn't see it himself, but Mycroft saw everything.

"Right, I'm ready," Elizabeth said and the two brothers stood up as she lugged her case behind her.

Mycroft stepped forwards, umbrella in hand before he took the case from her and held it by his side. He looked between Sherlock and Elizabeth as his brother pushed his hair forwards and his niece ran hers over her shoulder.

"I'll leave you two for a moment, shall I?" Mycroft rhetorically spoke, wandering out of the room and down the staircase.

"So...I guess I'll see you in a week," Lizzie spoke once Mycroft's steps had echoed down the steps. Sherlock nodded in agreement with her.

"I should suspect so," he replied. "I have text Angelo and told him that you are needed in a family emergency. He said that your job is secure for as long as possible."

Elizabeth smiled weakly. "I text him and said the same thing. At least we have matching stories."

"And you won't come with me? Just for a week?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I need to stay in London. The countryside is no place for a mind like mine."

Elizabeth looked worried for a few moments. "And I can't change your mind?"

"Many have tried."

Sherlock forced himself to smile and nod back at her as she rocked back and forth on her heels. She smiled gently over to her father and then walked over to him. Sherlock remained stood where he was as his daughter wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Since when did we hug so much?" Sherlock wondered back, awkwardly patting her on the back.

"Since your work almost got me killed multiple times," Elizabeth responded and Sherlock closed his eyes, some form of discomfort pulsing through his veins as he did so.

Sherlock could sense that she was growing weary about leaving for some reason he could not comprehend. He also wondered if she was about to cry and that he could not deal with. Sherlock plastered a grin onto his lips before taking hold of Elizabeth's hand and twirling her under his arm like she was a little girl.

"Come on," Sherlock said. "You would hate to see Mycroft yell at me for making him late."

"I guess so."

The pair of them wandered downstairs to see Mycroft stood by the open door of 221B, a black car lurking behind him on the side of the road.

"We should make it by nightfall if you get a move on, Lizzie," Mycroft informed his niece with sarcasm. She took a moment to glance back at Sherlock and he remained emotionless for a few seconds.

"Keep me informed," Sherlock urged his daughter.

"Snap," she responded and kissed him on the cheek.

He stood on the doorstep, watching as Elizabeth went down the street. He straightened out the knocker on the front of the door before slamming it shut, determined to find Moriarty before anything further could happen.

...

A/N: Thanks to anyone reading and I do hope you review! More action to come in the next chapter.


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